The Times They Are a-Changin' session 1, Columbia Studio A, NYC - 6.aug.1963, take 4, CO 78791-4
Come gather 'round friends
An' i 'll tell you a tale
Of when the red iron ore pits run plenty
But the cardboard filled windows
An' old men on the benches
Tell ye now that the whole town is empty.
In the north end of town
My own children have grown
While i was raised on the other
In the wee hours of youth
My mother took sick
An' i was brought up by my brother.
The iron ore poured
As the years passed the door
The draglines an' shovels they was hummin'
Till one day my brother
Failed to come home
The same as my father before him
With a long winter's wait
From the window i watched
My friends they couldn't have been kinder
An' my school it was cut
As i quit in the spring
To marry John Thomas a miner.
Oh the years passed again
An' the givin' was good
With the lunch bucket filled every season
But with three babies born
The work 't was cut down
To a half a day's shift with no reason.
Then the shaft was soon shut
An' my work was cut
An' the firin' air it felt frozen
Till a man come to speak
An' he said in one week
That number eleven was closin'.
They complain in the east
They are payin' too high
Thay say that your ore ain't worth diggin'
That it's much cheaper down
In the south american towns
Where the miners work almost for nothin'.
So the minin' gates locked
An' the red iron rotted
An' the room smelled heavy from drinkin'
Then the sad silent song
Made the hour twice as long
As i waited for the sun to go sinkin'.
I lived by the window
As he talked to himself
The silence of tongues it was buildin'
Till one morning's wake
The bed it was bare
An' i's left alone with three children.
The summer is gone
The ground's turnin' cold
The stores one by one they're a-foldin'
My children will go
As soon as they grow
For there ain't nothin' here now to hold 'em.