The Residents Migration

March to the Sea
We are rising as the sun retreats into the trees;
We're thinking of our destination as we start to leave;
We're marching to the sea, marching to the sea.
Smiling from the gentle touches of the evening breeze;
No one is unhappy now and no one is fatigued;
We're marching to the sea, marching to the sea.

The Observer
I'm a tired old man in a tired old land
Watching shadows moving across the sand;
Now they move at night and I understand
That they cannot see more than they can stand.
I have been decieved, I have murdered and
I have seen the soul of an unborn lamb;
It can burn a hole in a guilty man,
But it cannot stand in a distant land.

Hole-Workers New Hymn
We have left our lives, we have left our land,
We have left behind all we understand,
Now we must cry out, yes we must demand --
Let my children live in a land that's low,
Where the holes are deeper than light can go;
Let them have not pride but instead a soul
That can see the shame of the hands that glow.