There's something in the gold that we're digging The ground is sore but the axe still falls And still we mine for fame and for fortune And fall asleep each night against the bankrupt walls Your instruments Your tools for removal Their every swing just quotes the ghosts of other tries So heavy now it gets hard to remember How they ever could have felt so light Your lungs collapse Semi-precious but necessary You can clutch at dust or run for open sky Outside the walls Escaping birds chase the air Bursting out into that real world blinding light There's something in the gold we're digging There's something in the air down here Will you hold whatever hand will have you Will you be what's needed year to year