Chanting

When I was a little girl down to the tracks I would go
Hiding behind bushes so nobody would know.
I loved to listen to the men as they would chant and sing
Lifting their hammers and moaning with each clinking swing.
They sang about Jesus, mothers and death
Swinging their hammers with each catching breath.
These were all black men working on the rail
Chanting songs of life, each one a story to tell
Of sadness and happiness, clinking in rhythm right along
Down the tracks they were working, chanting and singing their song.
Each section had a leader, all the songs he knew
He led them in song moaning and chanting to this crew.
I would go home, my heart filled with love for the music of these men
Who worked so hard while singing, I wish I could hear them again.