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Title track del quattordicesimo (e penultimo) disco di Nick Cave and the Bad seeds, è anche l’ultimo disco pubblicato senza il cofondatore della band Mick Harvey.
Il gruppo nacque nel 1983 ad opera del cantante Nick Cave e del polistrumentista Mick Harvey, come evoluzione di una loro precedente band.
Diversi cambi di formazione fanno sì che alla fin fine i Bad Seeds siano di fatto solo il gruppo di supporto a Nick Cave.

Dig yourself, Lazarus
Dig yourself, Lazarus
Dig yourself, Lazarus
Dig yourself back in that hole

Larry made his nest up in the autumn branches
Built from nothing but high hopes and thin air
Collected up some baby blasted mothers
They took their chances and for a while
They lived quite happily up there

He came from New York City, man
But he couldn’t take the pace
He thought it was like a dog eat dog world
Then he went to San Francisco, spent a year in outer space
With a sweet little San Franciscan girl

I can hear my mother wailing
And a whole lot of scraping of chairs
I don’t know what it is
But there’s definitely something going on upstairs

Dig yourself, Lazarus
Dig yourself, Lazarus
Dig yourself, Lazarus
Dig yourself back in that hole
(I want you to dig, I want you to dig, I want you to dig)

Meanwhile Larry made up names for the ladies
Like Ms. Boo and Ms. Quick
He stockpiled weapons and took pot shots in the air
He feasted on their lovely bodies like a lunatic
And wrapped himself up in their soft yellow hair

I can hear chants and incantations
And some guy is mentioning me in his prayers
Well, I don’t know what it is
But there’s definitely something going on upstairs

Dig yourself, Lazarus
Dig yourself, Lazarus
Dig yourself, Lazarus
Dig yourself back in that hole
(I want you to dig, I want you to dig, I want you to dig)

Well, New York City, man
San Francisco, L.A., I don’t know
But Larry grew increasing neurotic and obscene
I mean, he, he never asked to be raised up from the tomb
I mean, no one ever actually asked him to forsake his dreams

He ended up like so many of ‘em do
Back in the streets of New York City
In a soup queue, a dope fiend, a slave
Then prison, then the mad house
Then the grave, oh, poor Larry

But what do we really know of the dead
And who actually cares?
Well, I don’t know what it is
But there’s definitely something going on upstairs

Dig yourself, Lazarus
Dig yourself, Lazarus
Dig yourself, Lazarus
Dig yourself back in that hole
(I want you to dig)

Dig yourself, Lazarus
Dig yourself, Lazarus
Dig yourself, Lazarus
Dig yourself back in that hole
(Dig Lazarus, dig)

Dig yourself, Lazarus
Dig yourself, Lazarus
Dig yourself, Lazarus
Dig yourself back in that hole
(I want you to dig)

Dig yourself, Lazarus
Dig yourself, Lazarus
Dig yourself, Lazarus
Dig yourself back in that hole