歌手:Bob Dylan
专辑:《The Best Hits》

作词 : Bob Dylan
作曲 : Bob Dylan
Come gather round friends
And Ill tell you a tale Of when the red iron pits ran plenty
But the cardboard filled windows
And old men on the benches
Tell you now that the whole town is empty
In the north end of town
My own children are grown
But I was raised on the other
In the wee hours of youth
My mother took sick
And I was brought up by my brother
The iron ore poured As the years passed the door
The drag lines an the shovels they was a-humming til one day my brother
Failed to come home
The same as my father before him
Well a long winters wait
From the window I watched
My friends they couldnt have been kinder
And my schooling was cut
As I quit in the spring
To marry john thomas a miner
Oh the years passed again
And the givin was good
With the lunch bucket filled every season
What with three babies born
The work was cut down
To a half a days shift with no reason
Then the shaft was soon shut
And more work was cut
And the fire in the air it felt frozen til a man come to speak
And he said in one week
That number eleven was closin
They complained in the east
They are paying too high
They say that your ore aint worth digging
That its much cheaper down
In the south american towns
Where the miners work almost for nothing
So the mining gates locked
And the red iron rotted
And the room smelled heavy from drinking
Where the sad silent song
Made the hour twice as long
As I waited for the sun to go sinking
I lived by the window
As he talked to himself
This silence of tongues it was building
Then one mornings wake
The bed it was bare
The summer is gone
The grounds turning cold
The stores one by one theyre a-foldin
My children will go
As soon as they grow
Well there aint nothing here now to hold them