Lay Your Shovel Down
The ridge
is cold, the timber high
(hmmmm) Where we laid him down
beneath the sky
No stone
to mark his resting place
Just the winter wind
across his face
Cold clay, take him home (clay take him home)
Where the mountain pines moan (the pines moan)
He worked
the seam, he walked the line
For forty years
inside the mine
(ahhhh) Now the earth
has claimed what it once lent
And the heavy back
is finally bent
Cold clay, take him home (clay take him home)
Where the mountain pines moan (the pines moan)
So close your eyes,
the work is done
No longer burning in
the sun
(no longer burning) The shadows fold across the steep
And pull the tired soul
to sleep
Cold clay...
(take
him home)
Where the pines moan...
(hush now)