Black gold

it ain't space-- we're layers underground,
and in the mine there's no time for celebrations
but ours is the most celestial,
yet most terrestrial among professions
here everyone is nothing short of wiz
from Hell onto the Earth we're casting coals
we'll grab the Devil's horns and take away all his
most precious fuel, so none is left to heat his cauldrons

Blown up, chopped up, laid in mold
Precious and reliable, Black Gold

Yes, we ourselves are just like devils, all in dust
But ain't no chance our train is leaving empty
We're torturing the womb of our Mother Earth,
but bringing warmth up there on Earth is way too tempting
the sound of trollies running keeps us up
they're scudding just like in the films about chases
and real meaning of the phrase 'Some like it hot!'
we feel right on the skin of our rusty palms

Blown up, chopped up, laid in mold
Precious and reliable, Black Gold

And yes, we're often in the solid gain
but we dig even deeper, for the hunger drives us
we love this job: it lets forget our souls' pain
while we are busy digging anthracites!
Look at the crater-pitted fields, for what they're worth
don't you forget them, look again in ire--
but still forgive us, blessed Mother Earth
for rummaging through your soft womb's quagmire!

Blown up, chopped up, laid in mold
Precious and reliable, Black Gold

hey brother, don't you worry 'bout getting lost
and choking on the dust: you're not alone!
Ahead and down: we'll be men or ghosts!
We are the ones who carved this maze in stones!

Blown up, chopped up, laid in mold
Precious and reliable, Black Gold