Misc Originals – Chris Cole - Company Scrip (Guitar)

Am
We’re minted like silver, pressed and poured,

G
Stamped by the hands that built the company store.

F
Born in the hollers, where the shadows are deep,

Am
They weigh our worth in coal, then lay us to sleep.

Am
The earth’s a cradle, but it swallows us whole,

G
Grinding men down to ash, body and soul.

F
We’re written in ledgers, debts carved in stone,

Am
Sold for the script, and the dirt we call home.

C
Script ain’t gold, it don’t shine or sing,

G
It’s a shackle, it’s a chain, a damn hollow thing.

F
We work the black veins ‘til our spirits are ripped,

Am
Born not as men, but as company script.

Am
The canary’s song fades, swallowed by dust,

G
Another soul traded for machines that won’t rust.

F
The mine is a chapel, with no pews, no prayers,

Am
Just the promise of a coffin, waiting somewhere.

Am
We burn like lanterns in a starless night,

G
Feeding the maw with the flicker of our light.

F
Hollowed-out hills and hollowed-out hearts,

Am
The mountains bleed black, but it don’t heal the scars.

C
Script ain’t gold, it don’t shine or sing,

G
It’s a shackle, it’s a chain, a damn hollow thing.

F
We work the black veins ‘til our spirits are ripped,

Am
Born not as men, but as company script.

F
The boss man’s a reaper, cloaked in soot and greed,

G
Feeding on the miners, like the coal feeds the steam.

F
They dig our graves where the seams run deep,

Am
And the Devil gets richer for the souls that he keeps.

Am
The mountains don’t echo the cries of the damned,

G
They hold their secrets like a miser with his hands.

F
And when we are dust, our stories will slip,

Am
Forgotten as the faces of company script.