Paroles
The streets of Bethesda
One day as I walked through the streets of Bethesda,
As I walked down past the slates and the graves,
I saw an old quarryman watching the sunset,
Recalling his life at the close of his day.
He's just a statistic in history's pages,
Struggling for breath as he shuffles along,
There's dust in his lungs from the rocks of the ages,
Death in that mountain he'd known for so long.
My grandfather told me: 'Don't slave in that quarry,
Or you will be joining them six feet below."
I said: 'Nhaid i bach paid a phoeni, fydda'i'n iawn,
(mi) fydda'i yn gwisgo fy masg rhag y llwch
