As you lay in foreign sheets,

Your life they tried to keep.

They are crying in the valleys,

The dead have learned to weep.

Those miners of the twenties

Watch their passing age,

As you clock your time sheet

And God's hand turns the page.

For you are pent up history

A past we won't forget;

Oh nobles, Lords and men of power,

Look down and feel regret.

For here lies one lone Welshman,

Who played your loaded dice.

He made your bloody money

And now he pays the price.

For coal was the raison d'etre,

And coal was the raison de mort.

The coal dust he imprisoned

Has climbed the cell block wall.

So sing out in the valleys

As your Cymru pit ghosts roam.

Charlie's leaving London

To make the journey home.