These withered hands have dug for a dream Sifted through sand and leftover nightmares Over the hill, a desolate wind Turns sh** 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 s**-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