Look over there, you used to say,
  The shape of the land beneath the street.
  Ridges and valleys and underground streams,
  You have to know whats under your feet.
  
  So you can mak things strong enough,
  To take the weight.
  The weight of all the people
  That haven't been born.
  
  That's what you said to me,
  And it's the envy of angels.
  
  Listen to that, you used to say.
  Can you hear someone drawing plans?
  Can you hear someone cutting wood?
  Can you hear someone walking the land?
  
  And all the time I wanted to be,
  Somewhere that wasn't so new,
  Where you don't have to dig youself out
  A place to stand.
  
  Far away,
  From the envy of angels.
  
  Driving to your place after dark,
  The light of the town behing those hills,
  I'm wanting so much to see you again,
  I can almost htough the new tar seal.
  
  In front of my wheels,
  They're painting the signs,
  Measuring the land,
  Marking the lines,
  
  Laying foundations,
  Making it strong,
  For all of those people,
  Who haven't been born.
  
  Just like you said.
  And it's the envy of angels.