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