A Welsh Coal Mines web page

Time.
 

Time is far more precious now 
than what it used to be. 
The sands of time run vicious now 
they're running out on me.
 

See times a thing we waste a lot 
don't realise its worth. 
But time is something I have not 
to spend here on this earth.
 

The things I always planned to do 
I'll never get them done. 
Just recollect what I've been through 
accept the fact, He's won.
 

I'd love to see the children grow 
have babies of they're own. 
Another thing that I'll not know 
because this tumours grown.
 

I used to like a pint or two 
but never drank too much. 
I never smoked a cigarette 
cigars, I'd never touch.
 

This ventilator here is breathing 
for me, day and night. 
The curtains always open 
`cause I love to see the light.
 

Forty years a collier, 
worked in seven different mines. 
That old coal dust has won the day 
he's blacked out all my time.
 

A lot of men have passed this way 
and some were friends of mine. 
Now my times not far away 
that word again look,  
Time.
 

 
Alun Murphy March © 2001

Big Mac.
 

A little man, of Yank decent, 
he wore a Scottish name. 
Brought here to make us all relent, 
with Thatcher's axe of pain.
 

He came to us from British Steel, 
his blade was drenched with blood. 
His only task to halt the wheels, 
while we went begging food.
 

For twelve long months, we fought that fight, 
and many men broke down. 
But while most men thought they were right, 
the dole queue we were shown.
 

There's many towns and village now, 
the land around them raped. 
By Old King Coal who slammed the doors 
and left them no escape.
 

'A damn good job', some are bound to say, 
them that never rode the cage. 
T'was a damn good job working night or day, 
'cause it let these men earn a wage.
 

On a button, cutting bottom, on the timber, in the face, 
as a beltman, in the heading, as a fitter any place. 
In the lamp room, in the Blacksmiths, as a store man you belonged, 
to something and it felt good, now you feel bad 'cause it's gone.
 

So now the pits all flattened, and parkland takes their place, 
while Maggie and Macgregor now, no longer show their face. 
Now the paper bag that he hid behind, was an omen some could say, 
of the future now the pits are gone and of what might take their place.
 

Another Big Mac and that's ruining our lives as well, 
Do you want fries with that Sir ? 
'Have A Nice Day'