Digging out of our range
My sympathy runs with time spent in the grave
Keeping some of this gold
Greed is the sound the mine carries the most
When nothing you see is clear darkness doesn't seem so bad
There's breath if you hold it
Begging for no new mining
Minutes counting for days
Both of your lungs are grey, needing a break
Fitting into a hole not mean for a man
There's barely room for the ghosts
When nothing you see is clear darkness doesn't seem so bad
There's breath if you hold it
Begging for no new mining
Keeping some of this gold
Making room for the ghosts