My breath is white my hands are blue
A pickaxe in my hand and I’m tunnelling through
I won’t be home for summer for the journey is too far
And the good lord knows that I’m a missing you

I left my home, my wife and children all
Seeking better wages, I travelled off abroad
I went to seek my fortune as a navvy for the state
It’s a call I want to end, but it’s all too late

My hands are scarred, my back is bent
I’m writing in my diary in this worn out tent
The whisky tastes like water and the soup it tastes the same
And I know the grass is greener from where I came

The explosion of the granite still ringing in my ears
I’m packing down the charges once again
I’ve been working on this railroad for nearly half my life
And I wonder when this work will ever end
Yes I wonder when this work will ever end

My breath is white my hands are blue
A pickaxe in my hand and I’m tunnelling through
I won’t be home for summer for the journey is too far
And the good lord knows that I’m a missing you
And the good lord knows that I’m a missing you
Yes the good lord knows that I’m a missing you

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