The Men Below - Latin Quarter

And you know you should be glad of the living

But it seems like a living hell sometimes

And on this playing stage you play so hard

But so much harder still — is the life beneath, down deep in the seams

Where your hotel nights are the stuff of the dreams

Of the men below

Imagine, having to fight

To work two miles down from the air and the light

And imagine, having to plead

That a job that can kill, is a job that you need

Darker blue this darkness, than a pale young miner’s eyes

Who has to see the convoy lights come shining

And can’t close off his surprise

With his one poor piece of paving, pressing hard against his palm

Knowing it might be the only way he’d ever get to spend another day

With the men below

A bingo king is calling

It must be morning time again

And every gaudy ball that gets blown out

It seems it’s numbered 'number ten'

While on an empty bus they tried so very hard to fill up every seat

There was a method in this mad alarm

Who do you think would ever do such harm to the men below?

And who knows what we all owe

To the boys in the dust — to the men below?

And who knows what we all owe

To the boys in the dust — to the men below?

And who knows what we all owe

To the boys in the dust — to the men below?