(Verse) You’re out here since before the crack of dawn... standing at the edge of a cobalt mine in the hills of southern Kenya, far from any proper road. The land around you is torn, carved into open wounds, with raw red and black stone jutting out in broken layers. (Instrumental Interlude) Nothing grows here anymore. choked by the powdery soil that the wind constantly lifts and throws around like ash. (Instrumental Interlude) I’m watchin’ you from up above, satellite eyes floatin’ over that sickly grey-yellow sky hangin’ like a dirty sheet. The sun looks like it don’t wanna bother showin’ its face. (Instrumental Interlude) Your clothes - torn to bits, stiff with dried-up muck and sweat, stickin’ to your back... (Instrumental Interlude) You wade knee-deep into the pit, the earth below sucking at your legs with every step. The ground it’s a thick, toxic stew of clay, gravel, and chemical runoff, a mix of bluish-grey and bruised brown. stench, diesel, metal, sweat, and something faintly sweet (Instrumental Interlude) You’re working with a rusted iron rod and a dented metal pan. No gloves. No mask. Your hands are raw, cracked, and coated in a layer of cobalt dust and sludge, stained a sickly blue-grey. (Instrumental Interlude) You breathe in shallowly. You try not to, but you can’t avoid it. The dust hangs in the air, invisible, deadly. You cough again. Sometimes you bend over and spit. (End)
