Holes

Time
All the long red lines
That take control
Of all the smoke light streams
That flow into your dreams
That big blue open sea
That can't be crossed
That can't be ploughed
Just born between
Whoa, the two white lines
Distant gods and faded signs
Of all those blinking lights
You had to pick the one tonight

Holes
Dug by little moles
Angry jealous spies
They've got telephones for eyes
And come to you as friends
All those endless ends
That can't be tied
Whoa, they make me laugh
And always make me cry
Till they drop like flies
And sink like polished stones
Of all the stones I've thrown
How does that old song go?
How does that old song go?

Plants
Those funny little plants
That never were quite right