Deep beneath these dusty hills
we breathe in deep our toxic ills
in boiling pits near to explode
where tin miners search
for the mother lode

And in our dusty warm abodes
With coiled copper in concentric rows
We watch out windows at the snow
lying on the path we have to go

With copper clasps on leather suits
and dapper hats and winter boots
We trudge begrudgingly out our doors
to find what our world has in store

Let down your rope elevator now
and pull me high into the clouds
carry me on your airship away
to a brighter land and a newer day

But the dream is cruel to men so poor
who can ill afford them anymore
So travel on fancy ladies and gents
don't worry about all the money you've spent

While we labor here so far below
in sweaty places beneath tarnished snow