Little boy, sitting way down in his filth, dreaming about the days of old
Living just like drunk his rich, trading in his life for gold
When I get home I'm boarding up the well
With nails forged of iron will
With every fall of the hammer, a ring of that old victory bell
When i get home I'm boarding up the well
And with an exculpating yell!
Sometimes it takes looking directly at the sun
to realize the darkness that surrounds thee
How can something no bigger than my fist
be the cloud to bare the rain that drowns me
When I get home I'm boarding up the well
With nails forged of iron will
With every fall of the hammer, a ring of that old victory bell
When i get home I'm boarding up the well
And with an exculpating yell!
And with an exculpating yell!
With what feels like the whole weight of the world on your shoulders
can make it hard on one to stand
Well I'm feeling stronger with that bottle to my lips
so I'm running back with a crobar in my hand.
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