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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

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