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The Streets of Bethesda


One day as I walked through the streets of Bethesda, as I walked down passed 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's known for so long.

My grandfather told me "don't slave in that quarry, or you will be joining them 6ft below," I said taidi bach paid a phoeni fyddai'n iawn, fyddai yn gwisgo fy masg rhag y llwch.

yn ol