Exile on the hill, gardener in the mire, digging up a swamp, he's rising from the field, a mess of gold and green, a nightmare in the mud, and there you are.
Brat on borrowed ground, poser in the gra**, tell us what you've learned.
Forbidding silent walls, and the beasts out in the bog sing a mournful song, silent song.
Is this what you want?
Is this how you'd have it?
Never fear, I know there's work here to redeem you.
Still it's clear, there's not a word that could save you.
If I had a chance to see the friends I've loved and lost I'd beg for their return.
I dig until I bleed, drink until I rot, lord I know it's wrong, so help me on.