These withered hands have dug for a dream
Sifted through sand and leftover nightmares
Over the hill, a desolate wind
Turns shit to gold and blows my soul crazy

The end, oh, the end
We live again
Oh, I grow weary of the end

Oh, hungry days in the footsteps of fools
Gazing alone through sex-painted windows
Dredging the night, drunk libertines
Stink like colognes from a new-fangled wasteland

The end, oh, the end
We live again
Oh, I grow weary of the end

Love is a plague in a mix-match parade
Where the castaways look so deranged
When will children learn to let their wildernesses burn
And love will be new, never cold and vacant

These withered hands have dug for a dream
Sifted through sand and leftover nightmares

The end, oh, the end
We live again
Oh, I grow weary of the end