The Rawdon Hills

The worn-down shacks of labour past on a hill of broken stone
Once brought by men to the stamping mills to brush away the gold
But before it could pass to their sons, the glory left the hole
The Rawdon Hills once were touched by gold
The grandsons of the mining men scratch the fields among the trees
When the gold played out, they were all turned out with granite-dusted knees
But at night around the stove, sometimes the stories still unfold
The Rawdon Hills once were touched by gold
Grandson of the mining men, you’ll see it in your dreams
Beneath your father’s bones still lies the undiscovered seam
Of quartzite in a serpentine vein that marks the greatest yield
And along the Midland Railway, it’s still told
How the Rawdon Hills once were touched by gold
Eighty years has been and gone since there was colour in the hole
And the care-worn shades of the hard rock men surround the old Cope Lode
And through the tiny hillside farms, the miners' tales grow old
The Rawdon Hills once were touched by gold
The Rawdon Hills once were touched by gold