He toils all day and all year.
He takes each misgiving
and gives them momentary life,
through one lamentable tear...
Before he carries on digging.

He gets his hands *****,
as he digs through soil, earth and sweat.
No end in sight,
or he'd rather not see.
No solace he'd find,
no peace he'd let.

He only sees this expanse of land...
Of which he diligently keeps.
Tales told by dishevelled sand,
covering secrets
which he has been burying deep.

He has made this
his past, present and future.
He'd make sure that each would fit.
Tied to this grounds,
he is the worn-out keeper.
He never tells but he buries hatchets.

I am still searching the alcoholic rock bottoms of the bottles I drown in
I have yet to find the father I wanted you to be
Wanting a cure for a broken home
Hoping that drowning in what I hate will somehow keep this noose lubricated

I know.
I know how our souls react
I am here and you are there
and like magnets we sometimes attract each other
and sometimes repel
it's just about the way we sit,
you see,
when we close our eyes
it's easier to feel.

And my heart is stained
and my hands are tattooed with sins
and I know,
there's too much blue in my eyes
and too much white in my soul,
too much winter
too much snow
for the fire that you are.

I know
and you know too
there is a ground we'll both step on,
Together,
when there won't be so much snow
when you will have forgiven my hands
and the blue in my eyes
will seem warm enough
for your heart.