Hell's Ditch

The Scrape

Hell's Ditch


This is the scrape
Clocking in and clocking out
Hell bent and out of shape
Still the ends don't meet at all
And in the absence of virtues
our hands sold off by the hour
with faces black, still battered and bruised we sing

Bless me, bless me, I'm innocent

We all lean together
So keep one hand on your wage
or we just won't eat
these lungs of stone refrain
And I'm screaming
self-preservation
down into cold, cold earth
But still cracked and damaged we sing

Bless me, bless me, I'm innocent

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