the dirt is on our handsnand sober thought demandsnpaced shuffling of our spadesnoh how often should we playnnwe don't care what their spirits saynwhat their ghosts will saynwhat the dead may saynnwhose are these sacred rites?nthe dead don't need their eyesnwhy is this sacred land?nthe dead don't need their handsnwhose are these sacred eyes?ntheir pow'r can hypnotizenwhose are these sacred hands?nthey tear us down into the sandnnthe blood is on our handsnand sane reasoning demandsnblindfolds be put on our bladesnand the steps that we must take