We filed inside, my father and I, row after row of downcast faces, lives held together with frayed shoelaces and the hope of second birth, we'd walk the streets, week after week, engineering works and machining factories, notice boards and apprentice vacancies, finding out that it all adds up to be a slowing downward spiral, this dirty town betrayed its work force, workers children's cries then echoed through the revolutions mills where once the spinners rhythm manufacturing a deaf defying roar, now only ghostly silence haunts the empty floor, maybe my eyes so inexperienced, couldn't see the pain but my heart was washed in admiration and the love I would sustain, coloured by the pride inside and the offerings in vain, as my father held his head up high despite the driving rain, demarcation and slamming doors, a mercy mission on foreign shores, divided family dejected son, but work is work, when all's said and done, shining light of all hope reborn, weathered through this infernal storm.
© 1997 Lyrics by N.Thomas. All rights reserved.