Down a long winding staircase
Through and old wooden door
There stands a child in wait
Begging for some more
Of shimmering rains
And glazed glasses chiming
The child works through the night
To finish mining
Digging his pick into the earth
Spraying out crimson dirt
Peppered with hail from high up
Tempering smooth skin where he has no shirt
They sob in the distance
Raised in one helpless sound
Yet they never stop toiling
Their cries chiming from all around
Come a whip across their back
Fire licking at their ankles
Ice flakes eating at their skin
Sweat dripping down their navels
They work an endless, hopeless road
Toiling away where there’s no sun
No chains to keep them tied
They’ve no where left to run