Danny Bowyer - What's an hour worth?

I could find industry in long since unnamed fields
These fields are littered with a crop of wasted wants
Down on the bloody banks, awash with nothing new
My hands and heart could well be stripped of all their wax
Or dressed in more than rags
In pride and faith and flair

Rough hands, be not broken when your angels fail to land
That's the rope you hold when you're sleeping with salesmen
We could be wishing out with wide, wide open hands
In our embroidered state of dance and dough

I've earned this death no less than for the cost of cigarettes
My wages left me parched so I drank my skin away
A fog obscures my days from what they could have been
Poems falls from mouths of the workers syrup sweet
Whose unchained hands can write
Whose unchained ears can listen

Rough hands, be not broken when your angels fail to land
That's the rope you hold when you're sleeping with salesmen
We could be wishing out with wide, wide open hands
In our embroidered state of dance and dough

Beyond the worldly threshold I found a thought remote
A remnant of the memories of these hours
Beyond the worldly threshold I found a thought remote
A remnant of the memories of these hours

Rough hands, be not broken when your angels fail to land
That's the rope you hold when you're sleeping with salesmen
We could be wishing out with wide, wide open hands
In our embroidered state of dance and dough

Written by:
Daniel Bowyer

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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