Higher Walls - Seth Lakeman

On beaten grass of frosty grey

A chill wind blows on a silent day

Beyond the road these yawning gates

Screeching wheels and a burning fate

Machines are fed with stench and smoke

Tarnished tools and shackled hopes

Sunken eyes turn grey and red

From dust and fumes and the years of dread

Higher walls are running us all

You can walk but they’ll make you crawl

We gamble, kick and trample on

Forge the years and build them strong

Bridge the gap of work and play

Ride the heels of a lonely trade

On trampled grass of midnight grey

A chill wind blows for the work we’ve made

Along the road our steps are straight

We pray for life beyond these gates