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)