A labyrinth to tunnel, a pit to bore,
Caverns to devour and catacombs to explore,
Fine jewels and finer clays lay still in their tombs,
A prize just too ripe for the picking we leave a scenery acast in wound
Voids in the lands plunge towards prizes considered grand
Before us a constructed landscape we seek to command,
Our structures are hands reaching towards that rubble,
Grabbing the shovel we cast our own problems into dirt born troubles,
Return to that gold seam glow,
For when we are consumed by the earth we will realise the heavens are below.
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