Song written by Tommy Armstrong the Pitman's Poet.

Let us not think of tomorrow,
Lest we disappointed be
All our joys may turn to sorrow,
As we all may daily see.
Today we may be strong and healthy,
But how soon there comes a change,
As we may learn from the explosion,
That has been at Trimdon Grange.
Men and Boys left home that morning,
For to earn their daily bread.
Little thought before that evening.
That they'd be numbered with the dead.
Let us think of Mrs. Burnett,
Once had sons but now has none,
By the Trimdon Grange explosion,
Joseph, George and James are gone.
February left behind it
What will never be forgot.
Weeping widows, helpless children.
Maybe found in many a cot.


Homes that once were blest with comfort,
Guided by a Fathers care
Now are solemn and gloomy
Since the Father is not there.
Little children kind and loving
From their homes each day would run
For to meet their Father's coming,
As each hard days work was done.
Now they ask if Fathers left them
The Mother hangs her head.
With a weeping widows feelings
Tells the Child that Fathers dead.
God protect the lonely widow,
Help to raise each drooping head,
Be a Father to the Orphans,
Never let them cry for bread,
Death will pay us all a visit,
They have only gone before,
We may meet the Trimdon victims,
Where explosions are no more.