Gonna dig me a hole
Just a basement below underneath Weary Ontario
Oh, the fortunes in coal
And dead canaries in cages I found
At the bottom
I'm proud when I look at the dirt on my hands
Holding my heart; I heard that you started a band
Well here I am
You can stamp my hand
Oh I dig that song
Been digging way too long, but here I am
Forcing my funny face back into the plaster again
Pushing bullets and blades through the backs of my kith and kin
Throwing stones
Skin and bones
Speed of sound
Wore me down
Yet something shakes this town
Have you heard what they're calling the 'Weary Hum'?
Well I think that I know where it's coming from
A combination of things: the wattage pushed out of an open-grill bass rig
And the resonant thump of a well-tuned, well-worn dead wood kick drum
So here I am
Either trapped in the back of an old burning panel van
Or alone in the ground waiting up for a helping hand
Feed a lie to me Tied to me now, and pulling me up
Built in Weary, broke by honest hands
Broken down with an ear to the ground
Pull me up