The son of a government man And a pillar of salt I was born with blood on my hands And have all the signs of a bleeding heart
Living high on a giant hawk On a mountain so steep Keep your head in a hollow log As the ruling fog are about to creep
What have we done? How’d we get so far from the sun? Lost, lost in an oscillating phase Where a tiny few catch all of the rays
Out beyond the western squalls In an Indian land They work for nothing at all They don’t know the mall or the layaway plan
Dig yourself a beautiful grave Everything you could want Maybe those invisible slaves Are too far away for a ghost to haunt
What do we charge? Letting go of a claim so large Oh, all of our working days are done But a tiny few are having all of the fun
Get used to the dust in your lungs
Is there no way down From this peak to solid ground Without having our gold teeth Pulled from our mouth
Make me a drink strong enough To wash away this dishwater world they said was lemonade Walk with me after the show Maybe we can find a way through the minefield in the snow
What are they charged? Letting go of a claim so large Oh, all of our working days are done But a tiny few are having all of the fun
Apologies to the sick and the young Get used to the dust in your lungsTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
