The Men Below (Latin Quarter)

Album, tour, albumen, you're still picking at the shell 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?