I'm digging myself a grave, a deep hole in the ground;
I'm digging myself a grave, resigned to a life alone.
I've tried to climb out, but the wall gives way,
So I take my shovel in my hand and continue to dig away.

A hole is something for secrecy, for solitude and peace;
But my hole does not comfort me, it has become my fleece
Escaping its grasp I cannot do, at least while I'm alone;
And who, pray tell, will look for me while I'm far underground?

This hole is all my life, an obsession you might say,
Like cigarettes or alcohol, I kill myself each day.
Cries of help are muted as the sod grows overhead,
So I cease to shout and look about, a hole is not so bad.

Miles below all human life, my privacy's assured.
No peering eye or prying hand will ever dare disturb.
While loneliness sets in and I realize my fear,
I shovel on, for going up seems impossible to bare.

I've dug too deep, I'm too far down, forgotten by the world.
I can't climb out, it's grown too dark, a prisoner, am I.
I can't go left, I can't go right, I only can go down,
Dirt's sent soaring, back is bent, this fear won't let me stay.

What would I give to see how jaded perceptions can be,
If I could see how far I've gone is really but a wee.
All around the dirt is flying, but I ain’t going down;
And yet the lie has fastened tight, and so my grave I see.

I'm digging myself a grave, if only I'd look up,
And open my eyes to all the truths, that I'm not far at all.
I've tried to see but I am blind, to hear yet I am deaf.
I need someone to take my hand, have you found me yet?

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