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It was the worst thing the town
had ever seen
One hundred years ago
They say the walls of the shaft caved in
Trapping men at the seam below
A fire began and grew out of control
Consuming the air and the walls that
were thick with raw coal

Three hundred and seven men
Consigned to the flames alive
From above they heard it all
The agonized dying cries of Monongah

The hopeless survivors waited
Fearing the dead were the lucky ones
As the conflagration neared
The men clasped hands
and beseeched their God
To let it be quick but the end
would come slow
Black fire devoured the skin and the
flesh from their bones

Three hundred and seven men
Consigned to the flames alive
From above they heard it all
Every agonized dying cries at Monongah

A Place of unholy rest
Where the dead will not be still
A place of unsettled debt
Where their spirits haunt that hill

It was the worst thing
the town had ever known
So many dead below
They say when the wind blows you can
still hear the screams of woe
There are some things
that can never be erased
Unspeakable suffering has left a reproach on this place

Three hundred and seven men
Three hundred and seven souls
From above they can still be heard
The unavenged crying ghosts
of Monongah

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