The streams descending from the hills Ran red with the iron they brought. It could as well have been lost blood For all the wealth they sought.
Plenteous in ore and rich in scope Those Northern hills were ravaged; In the name of thrusting Revolution My native land was savaged.
The earth’s spoils harvested to feed the world’s gross need for steel; So while the master’s pockets bulged No stop to progress’s wheel.
The cost was counted in toil and sweat, In the maiming of the land, And the crying of unnumbered souls Who did not understand.
NOTE: There were 400 fatalities at Eston, North Yorkshire, in the 100 years (in the 19th and early 20th Centuries) the mines were worked there in the Eston Hills, between Cleveland and the River Tees Estuary.