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There is this old woman, she lives down the road |
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You can often find her kneeling inside of her hole |
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And I often ask her "Are you looking for the mother lode?" |
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No, no my child, this is not my desire and then she said |
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"I'm digging for fire |
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I'm digging for fire |
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I'm digging for fire |
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I'm digging for fire" |
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There is this old man who has spent so much of his life sleeping |
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That he is able to keep awake for the rest of his years |
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He resides, on a beach, in a town where I am going to live |
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And I often ask him "Are you looking for the mother lode?" |
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No, no my child, this is not my desire and then he said |
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"I'm digging for fire |
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I'm digging for fire |
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I'm digging for fire |
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I'm digging for fire" |
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I'm digging for fire fire fire |
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I'm digging for fire |
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I'm digging for fire, for fire, for fire |
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I'm digging for, for fire |
