Time, all the long red lines, that take

Control, of all th smokelike 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 th' two white lines, distant gods an' faded

Signs, of all those blinking lites, you had t' pick the one tonite...



Holes, dug by little moles, angry jealous

Spies, got telephones for eyes, come t' 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.