The lines of my earth so brittle unfertile and ready to die
I need a drink but the well has run dry
And we in the habit of saying the same things all over again
For the money we shall make

This is the last song that I write
til you tell me otherwise
And its because I just dont feel it
This is the last song that I write
til you tell me otherwise
And its because I just dont feel it anymore
It should be our time this fertile youths black soil is ready for rain
The harvest is nigh but the well has gone dry
And they in the habit of saying the same things all over again
About the money we shall make

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