Residents (The). Other. Hole-Workers New Hymn. Zeneszám

We have left our lives, we have left our land,
We have left behind all we understand,
Now we must cry out, yes we must demand --
Let my children live in a land that's low,
Where the holes are deeper than light can go;
Let them have not pride but instead a soul
That can see the shame of the hands that glow.