Russian Futurists Troy Weight
You've got the Gold locked upIn a snow capped shed that's
in the frozen North
That mine's been dug so deep
And there's nothing left, but I still pan the stream
Cold night: in mining camps
Have proved to me I'm running out of time
When Spring comes I'll head back home
With a fortune to spend, but to lend not to own
By oil lamps, I write these notes
Sit back and laugh at what I wrote
Up North's a real strange spot
Where the bears match the snow and it's dark out alot
Woodstoves will keep me warm
On the nights the snow screams at the weight of the storm
I want some time sway
From coming up empty and wasting a day
When spring comes I'll head back home
With a fortune to spend but to lend not to own
I'll be so proud! I'll strike it rich!
I'll have it all, without a hitch?