The dirt is hard and gray with frost
I calculate the total cost
The shovel bites the frozen clay
To find the things I threw away
The house I built above the sink
Is made of more than steel and ink
The floorboards groan with every pace
Above a dark and vacant space
There is a well beneath the floor
A black and cold and open door
The memory is rising slow
To drown the things I think I know
The pressure of the heavy dark
Will kill every fucking spark
I find a shoe and then a ring
The weight of every rotten thing
The structure of my current life
Is sharpened by a hidden knife
I dig until my knuckles bleed
To plant a dark and bitter seed
The architecture of the brain
Is founded on the old and sharpest pain
I remember how the light would fade
Within the center of the glade
Before the concrete took the grass
And turned the world to lead and glass
I’m pulling on a heavy chain
Within the cold and biting rain
To bring the blackness to the air
And find the logic of despair
There is a well beneath the floor
A black and cold and open door
The memory is rising slow
To drown the things I think I know
The pressure of the heavy dark
Will kill every fucking spark
The timber of the ceiling frame
Is etched with every name I lost
It stands since the mud is deep
Where all the unfinished sentences sleep
I’ll dig until the well is dry
Or until I find a way to die
The water is a freezing black
And there is no way of turning back.