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Three Miles Down
by
Gil Scott-heron
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Here come the mine cars; it'sdamn near dawn. Another shift of men, some of my friends, comin' on. Hard to imagine workin' in the mines; Coal dust in your lungs, on your skin and on your mind. I've listened to the speeches, but it occours to me politicians just don't understand; the thoughts of isolation, ain't no sunshine underground. It's like workin' in a graveyard three miles down. Damn near a legend as old as the mines: things that happen in the pits just don't change with the times. Work 'till you're exhausted in too little spacwe. a history of desastrous fears etched on your face. Somebody signs a paper, ev'ry body thinks it's fine, but Taft and Hartley ain't done one day in the mines. You start to stiffen! You heard a crackin' sound! It's like workin' in a graveyard three miles down.
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