Sons of the Furnace

Pittsburgh '83, the mill went cold Our fathers turned to drink and rust The company man took the company truck And he left us with the carbon dust

We were ten years old, we played in the slag We learned to fight before we read Every man who raised us died at fifty — And we promised we'd outlive the dead

We are the sons of the furnace Born to burn, born to die Steel in the blood, smoke in the lungs — And the same goddamn sky The same goddamn sky

Joey took the Army, came home in a flag Mikey took the needle, took the floor Tommy took the night shift at the same dead mill That killed his daddy years before

I took the long road out of town Took a wife, took a southern name But every time the foundry whistle blows in my dreams — I am ten years old again I am ten years old again

They sold the mill to a man in Beijing They sold the church to a man in New York They sold our names for a tax break, brother — And they call us forgotten work Well, we ain't forgot, brother — We just ain't been heard

We are the sons of the furnace Born to burn, born to die Lay me down beside the slag heap — And let the smoke write here he lies Let the smoke write here he lies

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