Deep down, buried in the dirt, dwells a tangled mess.

Of a past long forgotten, covered up and rotting with the rest.
We kicked it under the welcome mat, but the more we drill and dig
The more our past comes raging back, the more our backs they break.
Do you know what your world’s about?  The tables are turning now.
Well why not? Pass me a shovel.  Everybody, hey, come out and help.
Start the digging, there’s no trouble, until our brow start to glisten and melt.
Do you know what your life’s about. The tables are turning around.
And soon young women and men, they will grow old.
They skin will be leathered, and their sight will start to go.
The things they buried will work their way on up. 
Exposed and rotting our lives it will begin to haunt.
Do you know what your world’s about? The tables are turning now.
Now in our empty homes, we’ll hang our dusty coats.
The day’s work is done.  This disaster we’ve postponed. 
But soon the future, it will come, that old tax collector.
Demanding us to pay on up; the day in the sun is over.
Do you know what your world’s about? The tables are turning around.
Do you know what your world’s about? The tables are turning now.
The tables are turning around.
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