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There's something in the gold that we're digging
The ground is sore but the axe still falls
And still we mine for fame and for fortune
And fall asleep each night against the bankrupt walls
Your instruments
Your tools for removal
Their every swing just quotes the ghosts of other tries
So heavy now it gets hard to remember
How they ever could have felt so light
Your lungs collapse
Semi-precious but necessary
You can clutch at dust or run for open sky
Outside the walls
Escaping birds chase the air
Bursting out into that real world blinding light
There's something in the gold we're digging
There's something in the air down here
Will you hold whatever hand will have you
Will you be what's needed year to year
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