Gold

You soul is made of sand, can't withstand the tide, with no truth inside. You speak to your masses now, layin' at your feet, they admit defeat. (Long way down) He hangs by a single thread, don't need nothing more, than the worst of you. We stay in the underground, and cover up instead, as just one shade. (Way down) So, you count your gold, while shivering, crying in the rain. Your soul is made of sand, can't withstand the tide, with no truth inside. You speak to your masses now, layin' at your feet, they admit defeat. So, you count your gold, while shivering, crying in the rain. So, you count your gold, while shivering, crying in the rain.