these withered hands have dug for a dream
sifted through sand and leftover nightmares
over the hill a desolate wind
turns shit to gold and blows my soul crazy
the end
o the end
we live again
Em Asus A
love is a plague in a mix-match parade
where the castaways look so deranged
when will the children learn to let their wildernesses burn
and love will be new never cold and vacant
these withered hands have dug for a dream