My
breath is white my hands are blue
A
pickaxe in my hand and I’m tunnelling through
I
won’t be home for summer for the journey is too far
And
the good lord knows that I’m a missing you
I
left my home, my wife and children all
Seeking
better wages, I travelled off abroad
I
went to seek my fortune as a navvy for the state
It’s
a call I want to end, but it’s all too late
My
hands are scarred, my back is bent
I’m
writing in my diary in this worn out tent
The
whisky tastes like water and the soup it tastes the same
And
I know the grass is greener from where I came
The
explosion of the granite still ringing in my ears
I’m
packing down the charges once again
I’ve
been working on this railroad for nearly half my life
And
I wonder when this work will ever end
Yes
I wonder when this work will ever end
My
breath is white my hands are blue
A
pickaxe in my hand and I’m tunnelling through
I
won’t be home for summer for the journey is too far
And
the good lord knows that I’m a missing you
And
the good lord knows that I’m a missing you
Yes
the good lord knows that I’m a missing you
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