Shovels, Axes, Crosses

I'll pick up a shovel and I'll dig a hole, The hand of death and the life it stole, If Heaven is real than where will he go, I guess we'll never know, Why does the good always die, And why does the bad always lie, I'll pick up an axe and I'll dig a hole, Repeat this process until I get old, Repeating that process until I find gold, Why does the rain start to fall, And why does the snow start to fall, All on the days of sorrow and misery, Your tears and your shock, Your pains and your grief, They won't stop for you, And they won't stop for me, What will it be to make me see, The reason for this is not for bliss, I'll pick up a cross and I'll dig a hole, Place that cross down right in my hole, For God to know and to take this soul.