[Verse 1]
It stands so proud, the wheel so still
A ghostlike figure on the hill
It seems so strange there is no sound
Now there are no men underground
What will become of this pit-yard
Where men once trampled, faces hard
Tired and weary, their shift done
Never having seen the sun?

[Verse 2]
Will it become a sacred ground
Foreign tourists gazing round?
Asking if men once worked here
Way beneath the pit-head gear
Empty trucks once filled with coal
Lined up like men on the dole
Will they ever be used again
Or left for scrap just like the men?

[Verse 3]
There'll always be a happy hour
For those with money, jobs and power
They'll never realise the hurt
They cause to men they treat like dirt