| Well it’s a miners warnin', and a cold dark sky
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| the road is climbin', to the stars above
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| it’s a wild land that asks no quarter
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| and a bitter wind that beguiles the sun
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| and every stone, weeps for the memory
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| of those who died, and those who lost
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| and the legions came, and stayed to conquer
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| they thought forever, but fate said no
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| and the holy man who followed after
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| dug for metal, on the hill
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| and they cursed the gods of winter
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| that bound the land of snow
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| and gave blessings, for the springtime
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| when the sun came shining through
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| and the songs they sang, were songs of hopin'
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| hopin' for the goodtimes still
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| now all that remains are the names on the graves
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| of those who died on Greenhow Hill
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| And from the shires and from the lowlands
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| travelling people, with the gypsy bones
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| sinking shafts and hard rock drivin'
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| the toil was hard oh as the day was long
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| of mother loads and fates like silver
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| when danger, was just an alibi life was
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| cheap and death came easy the
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| cold stole all your senses
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| in the Hades, of the mind
|
| and the songs they sang, were songs of hopin'
|
| hopin' for the goodtimes still
|
| now all that remains are the names on the graves
|
| of those who died on Greenhow Hill |