There's layer of dirt and leaves below
The top it may be dry to the eye but underneath it's hot
I can see that layer rising in you as
I watch you prepare for what
You're gonna do well not tomorrow

I can see
You're growing tired of this
And I can tell
Face first down an empty well

How about a margin of safety a month or a week
When instead of staring we might speak
As I see my contract begin to expire I look up from the ground as you move
Higher and higher not tomorrow