Spinning that stone uphill again

Like atonement for a bygone sin

Under the weight of it, my bones

Are cracking like a dry branch in a westward wind

But Zeus and his pantheon of kin

Take the first nine out of every ten

Minas, like lightning changing hands

It all returns back to his pockets, in the end

You can't take any gold or rings further than the grave

Nothing we make can we bring

But still the bait hanging from the string is calling my name

And like the wind it slips again

Out of my fingers

As Fortuna sits idly by

I spin her wheel with all my might

Crushing my kin for warring-wage

Minted from the ivory of your tooth and eye

Under the table where she dines

I sit hungry with my mouth foamed white

Fighting for crumbs that trickle down

As she finishes her cake, then takes a bite from mine

You can't take any gold or rings further than the grave

Nothing we make can we bring

But still the bait hanging from the string is calling my name

And like the wind it slips again

Out of my fingers

[Instrumental]