The puddler's Tale
Stan Rogers
(Rythme ¾) Cmaj7/B : x22010 F(sus4) : 133311 They neither know_ of_ night_ or day_ They night and day_ pour_ out their thun_-der_ As every in_-got_ rolls_ away_ A dozen more_ are_ split_ asun_ -der_ There is a sign__ beside_ the gate_ "Eleven Days"_ since a man lay dy_-ing_ Now every shift_ brings_ fear_ and hate_ And shaken men_ in_ terror cry_-i-i-ing___ _ The molten ri_-vers_ boil_ a-way_ A fiery brew_ hell_ ne_-ver e_-qualed_ To their pro_-fits the bos_-ses pray_ And Mammon sings_ in_ his grim cathe_ -dral_ His atten_-dants join_ the choir_ And heaven help_ us_ if we're shirking_ Stoke_ the fur_-nace-al_-tar fire_ And just be thank_-ful_ that_ we're wor_-king!_ Do_ this_ then_ charge_ the hoppers high_ Lest you endure_ the_ fore_-man's cho_-ler_ Do_ this_ then_ drain the tankards dry_ And let us toast_ the_ almighty dol_ -lar_ That keeps us chained_ here_ before the fire_ Where heat and noise_ set_ the weak_ aqua_-king_ At the si_-ren's infernal cry_ The open hearth_ sets_ the ground_ to sha_-king_ Do_ this_ then_ raise_ the babies high_ And make them shriek_ with_ love_ and laugh_-ter!_ Do_ this_ then_ kiss your woman's eyes_ And raise_ a song_ un_-to_ the raf_ -ters!_ Wash the steel_ mill_ from your hair_ Heap the ta_-ble 'till it's brea_-king_ 'Nor let ter_-ror_ enter there_ And in the hearth_ set_ the glasses brea__-a_ -king__