Hand and foot bound,
He's going down the mine,
Bent under the weight of age
And he's not yet nine.
So fastely has he grown
In two years of bondage
That he's now old enough to know
The mine's for old and young alike.

As far back as the Flood,
Travelling down the ages,
The haunting tune moans and flows
Through miles and times.
Its music shed the tears
Of innocent pupils,
And keep the measure of their lives
To make them hum this lesson:

An eye for a shoe,
A kid for a shirt,
That's the price of a slave.
A lung for a piece of coal,
A child for a bit of gold,
That's the price of our shame.

If you're not on the ball,
If you don't tan enough,
You'll see my son and you will find
That you will never save your hide.
Your fate will not be changed
And slavery fits you well,
And if you will not bend my son,
I'll be the one to tan your hide.

For since the dawn of time,
The tune haunts all the Kind,
For ever golden hearts will sing:
"we really want to change the world".
But when the sun is down,
Their pursuit has to rest
And tossing about in their sleep,
They have once more to face this tune

Hard labour, underground,
In the cellars of the world,
No future for these tiny hands,
No chance to break through.
A children's sacrifice
To cure a sickening world,
A whole generation's hopes
Remaining sunk in disregard.

So what is left to us ?
A bitter taste of guilt
For we can't swear the things we buy
Have come to us with dignity.
We never wanted that
But still we're looking down,
And from the leather of our shoes
The sentence rises from our feet: