Skyland

Male singing I slip the chain out of its hook. The empty coal cart settles back. You wait beside my jacket for the clicking on the track. My pony with the rubbed-white brow, you know each beam by touch. I whistle what I always whistled. You lean into the tug. They've shut the workings down for good. We're taking nothing up. You can lift your head. There's no timber overhead. All the wheels are standing. Let the loaded wagons lie. You can lift your head. That's the sky, lad. That's the sky. Human whistle - four bars Male singing Beyond the bricks, you plant your feet. Your ears keep turning toward the track. I set my lamp upon the ground. You nose it, then you shuffle back. The grass moves where the lamplight ends. You tuck your chin again. I give the leather strap a pull. You flinch beneath my hand. You can lift your head. There's no timber overhead. All the wheels are standing, but you won't leave my side. You can lift your head. That's the sky, lad. That's the sky. It was my hand that taught you to bow before the beam. I praised you for obeying. You kept your eyes on me. I lay the harness on the stones and whistle where I stand. You take a step toward the grass. I let the strap leave my hand. Human whistle - eight bars Male singing You can lift your head. There's no timber overhead. Now your hooves are moving where no iron rails can guide. You can lift your head. I lift mine and walk beside. My hand hangs empty by my coat. You lower your head to the grass.