Blind Fiddler - Eric Andersen

I lost my eyes in the Harlan pits in the year of '56

While pulling a faulty drill chain that was out of fix

It bounded from the wheel and there concealed my doom

I am a blind fiddler far from my home

I went up into Louisville to visit Dr. Laine

He operated on one of my eyes still it is the same

The Blue Ridge can’t support me, it just ain’t got the room

Would a wealthy colliery owner like to hear a fiddler’s tune?

With politics and threatening tones the owners can control

And the unions have all left us a long, long time ago

Machinery lying scattered, no drill sounds in the mine

For all the good a collier is, he might as well be blind

Was a time I worked a long fourteen for a short eight bucks a day

You’re lucky if you’re mining, that’s what the owners say

And if you’ve got complaining, you’d better aim to keep it low

How come they took my food stamps, does anybody know?

My father was a miner’s son, a miner still is he

But his eyes have took a fever, and there’s a shaking in his knee

The holes are closing rapidly, he cannot understand

A machine’s got a bigger arm than him or any other man

Plastic for the windows, cardboard for the door

Baby’s mouth is twisting, it’ll twist a little more

«They need welders in Chicago» falls hollow to the floor

How many miners made that trip a thousand times or more?

The lights are burning bright, there’s laughter in the town

But the streets are dark and empty, there ain’t a miner to be found

They’re in some lonesome hollow where the sun refuse to shine

And the baby’s screams are muffled in the sweetness of the wine

With a wife and four young children depending now on me

Whatever can I serve them with?

My God, I cannot see

Through the Blue Ridge Mountains I am content to roam

Yes, I am a blind fiddler, far from my home

Yes, I am a blind fiddler, far from my home