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The wind and the rain beat on his fair headAs he stood in the darkness wishing he was deadOnly seventeen when he went down the mineAnd it's a year that he's been out on the lineBitter tears rolled down his cheekHe couldn't stand to hear talk of defeatDespair in a terraced house and ghosts from the pastThe living death they'd fought is here at lastThe weeds choke and the rust corrodesYou'd think it'd have been fifty yearsSince the place was closedVengeance is not ours it belongs to thoseWho seek to destroy usHow much more is there left to lose? From Letras Mania