It's like boiling water, just to tug on the steam
Or running in a race, just to run from a dream
We’ll be burning our chairs, just to keep from the cold
Or drilling a hole just searching for hell
Ringing satins red door bell with an oil rigging well

It's like waking up in the night to a horrible smell
Burning flesh from the shale and a house full of kids
Bone's turn to ashes while pockets turn to gold

It's like somebody took, a knife to your chest
Filled a vessel with your blood and decided to test
How much money you can make from killing someone
Can this blood on our hands replace the water that runs?

Can this blood our hands replace the water that runs?
How much money you can make from killing someone?