Time,
all the long red lines,
that take control,
of all the smoke like streams,
that flow into yr dreams,
that big blue open sea,
that can't be crossed,
that can't be climbed,
just born between,
oh the two white lines,
distant gods an' faded signs,
of all those blinking lites,
you had to pick the one tonite...

Holes,
dug by little moles,
angry jealous spies,
got telephones for eyes,
come to you as friends,
all those endless ends,
that can't be tied,
oh they make me laugh,
an' always make me cry,
til they drop like flies,
an' sink like polished stones,
of all th' stones i throw,
how does that ol' song go
how does that ol' song go...

Bands,
those funny little plans,
that never work quite right.

See also:
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