Lyrics Stan Rogers – The Puddler’s Tale
Text:
They neither know of night or day
They night and day pour out their thunder
As every ingot rolls away
A dozen more are split asunder
«Eleven Days» since a man lay dying
Now every shift brings fear and hate
And shaken men in terror crying
The molten rivers boil away
A fiery brew hell never equaled
To their profits the bosses pray
And Mammon sings in his grim cathedral
His attendants join the choir
And heaven help us if we’re shirking
Stoke the furnace-altar fire
And just be thankful that we’re working
Do this, then, charge the hoppers high
Lest you endure the foreman’s choler
Do this, then, drain the tankards dry
And let us toast the almighty dollar
That keeps us chained here before the fire
Where heat and noise set the weak a-quaking
At the siren’s infernal cry
The open hearth sets the ground to shaking
Do this, then, raise the babies high
And make them shriek with love and laughter
Do this, then, kiss your woman’s eyes
And raise a song unto the rafters
Wash the steel mill from your hair
Heap the table till it’s breaking
And in the hearth set the glasses breaking
Album
Stan Rogers – From Coffee House To Concert Hall
