Holes

Time, all the long red lines, that take control

Of all the smoke-like streams that flow into your dreams

That big blue open sea, that can't be crossedThat can't be climbed, just born between

Oh, the two white lines, distant Gods an' faded signs

Of all those blinking lights, you had to pick the one tonightHoles, dug by little moles, angry jealous spies

Got telephones for eyes, come to you as friends

All those endless ends, that can't be tiedOh, they make me laugh, and always make me cry

Till they drop like flies, and sink like polished stones

Of all the stones I throw, how does that old song go?

How does that old song go?