cold as the clay

whispers of ancients buried by dust

echoes of ages in canyons of rust

is heaven so lonely? i'll know soon enough

cold as the clay

dark as a mine

wasting away blood

sweat

and grime

panning for gold

picking for dimes

lying in wait for better times

the tools of the trade lie shopworn and old

the skills of the master done died with his soul

and the worklike routine is so lonely and cold

cold as the clay

dark as the mine

wasting away

blood

sweat and grime

panning for gold

picking for dimes

lying in wait for better times

the land was converted

the river was moved

the village expanded

some say it's improved

but the lingering feature is a grim attitude

cold as the clay

dark as the mine

wasting away

blood

sweat and grime

panning for gold

picking for dimes

lying in wait for better times