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Down here, down here
Beneath the low, dark lamps
That hang above
The damp cold, cold floor

Below, below
Sixty feet or so
Of rock beneath
The hard, hard snow

The power, the power
Flickers down the hour
And taps from the chaps above
They know we're covered

We will never, we will never
We will never, we will never
Be discovered

Too late, too late
What a fate
They may find us face down here
Beneath the low, dark lamps
That hang above the damp cold floor

And above
Songs are sunged
Forks are tongued
Bells are runged
Men are hunged
With faces covered

We will never, we will never
We will never, we will never
Be discovered

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