The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind…

The ballad of Woodhouse Colliery

the siren blasts pre-dawn today
wakes the locals at five-thirty
it is time it screams for the chosen few
to get down deep and come up dirty

what we do is what our grandas did
it made some sense back then
when our father was nobbut a gangly kid
but (umm) have you seen the papers

our houses cost nearly nothing we’re told
too small too cramped so old and cold
yet there are some who fail to afford them
so they go and do what their grandas did
when their father was nobbut a kid

but not to power a nation this time
this time they’re making nowt
unless you consider the world’s biggest hole
the country’s nuclear dustbin
an achievement of sorts
rather than an act of futility
a great big hole of nothingness
devoid of all utility

they are scouring the planet’s intestines
not producing the value of old
as they know it’s only shit they shovel
not exhuming a dark form of gold

what we do is what our grandas did
it made some sense back then
when our father was nobbut a gangly kid
but (umm) have you seen the papers

dig it big enough they say
and all Sellafield will fit
but what will they do with the great big hole
where that festering factory used to sit

they’ll build a mountain of excrement
unneeded to the sky
and add another Wainwright
where the fulmars used to fly