Down through the cracks a poor man stacks a thousand pounds of coal
All alone with rocks and stone this cavern is his home
And what could a poor man want with all this dirty stinking coal
It is his love and so to him it’s worth its weight in gold
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
Out in the fields where time stands still and the sky rolls on for miles
A poor man dreamed of much bigger things ever since he was a child
Train pulls in on a western wind and now’s his chance to go
But he turns around to familiar ground he cannot leave his home
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
Up on a stage a forgotten age the words spill out and flow
A poor man dreams of much bigger things living underneath the glow
And up from the aisles a hundred smiles return the energy flow
So he closes his eyes and says to the skies there is no place like home
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh |
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Stories from the Hills and Sea 
