A two-hundred-footer
High up on the cliff
A double 500
And one side still lit
But to the top we climb
Through both fog and thick mist
For there are but a few
Who would attempt to do this
The steel she is slick
And the static’s quite rough
So don’t waver a little
For the cost is too much
The loss of a father, husband, or friend
So, we trust in our skills and God up above
Please return us safe
To the ones that we love
Still, he does it with passion
And such great pride
Even knowing the risks
And how many had died
But no other way
Would he let his day begin
than with the ones he calls brothers
His fellow linemen.
C.L. Mitchell - Lineman