People Making Money Out of Sand

last year I met Jim
in a crowded little place
he was trying to make some money
with his songs
he was playing an old guitar
and his hands were killing him
he was singing with his throat
just caught a cold

people passing looking
walking further stayed around and no
one understood a word he sang
he felt a bit misunderstood
cause he knew that no one understood
and then he sang another song
which no one heard

he was singing
I don't wanna be like father
working all day long and trying
to make some money out of sand
working all day long
it's doing him so wrong
and the life of his family
in which he had his faith and fear

I don't wanna live like people
making money out of sand
don't wanna be like people
working till they're dead
I don't wanna live like people
making money out of sand
don't wanna be like people
making money out of sand

he often asks himself
should I leave or just stay here
wander through the world
with it's only doubts and fears

he often asks himself
should I leave or just stay here

last week I met Jim
in just another boring place
he was singing
while his eyes seemed close to death
he was playing his old guitar
while his hands were killing him
he was singing
with his throat just caught a cold

that he missed the land
where he once lived
where day and night in harmony fit
where his father worked so hard
to give them a life
and if you'd meet Jim after a while
if he hadn't passed away
he'd probably sing that same old song
that he'd finally understand