The Shape

My god said I should bury the hatchet Underneath my fake sympathy I don't know what he told you But that's what he told me How'd I get here so low I want to live when I'm old And I'll be made of gold, but What's the shape of my heart got to do with it My god said I'm an ant on a hill Right between the others And he said that they're my brothers And all I do is take The message, not the ache And my god looks a lot like me In wrinkled leather shoes I see the reds, but not the blues For all my sympathetic views I have a lot of trouble trusting me or trusting you How'd I get here so low I want to live when I'm old And I'll be made of gold but What's the shape of my heart got to do with it How can I say I wasn't there when I should've been I talk and talk, but never find the air How'd I get here so low I want to live when I'm old And I'll be made of gold but What's the shape of my heart got to do with it