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