Above me there is rock, not outer space. Coal mines are not designed for celebration. What brings me down to this unearthly place Is yet a very earthly occupation. Our bunch are not a trifle short of wizards: From devilís own lair we smuggle coal. The frying pans of hell need fuel to sizzle. Well, we shall bring that cooking to a halt! Roughly hacked, neatly packed, good to go: Burnable, dependable, pitch-black gold. Though we appear, too, like devilís rout, Our coal-transporting train will go replete. And though it may get cold beneath the ground, On top of it, thereís going to be heat. As if a precious Grand Prize were at stake, The wagonloads of coal are racing by. Who thought that mining was a piece of cake Sometime should come down here and have a bite. Roughly hacked, neatly packed, good to go: Burnable, dependable, pitch-black gold.
Weíll make a fortune when the stuff has sold, And yet grub deeper: greed is hard to tire. This job will barely help us save our souls, But it will save us money for retirement.
The fields of grain once ploughed by shells of war Remember fire, smoke and victimsí yelling. But Earth will kindly disregard the sore That we have caused by delving in her belly.
Roughly hacked, neatly packed, good to go: Burnable, dependable, pitch-black gold. Another chunk of ore gets chopped away, Releasing sounds that sure can hurt the ear. Jackhammers ram inside the planetís brain Through solid bone of upper hemisphere.
Be not afraid of getting lost inside The tunnelís choking dust, keep standing tall! If we should die, weíll perish side by side: It was our own project, after all! Roughly hacked, neatly packed, good to go: Burnable, dependable, pitch-black gold.
© Pavlo Shostak. Translation, ?