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