Past Lives
K Hole
Those visions soft and sweet hang from the hands of timeGrey fruit on broken branch, concrete on the vineBeneath the silver and the skin, the teardrop and the seaThe hollow hole it grows into eternityCandle in the corner, no lightNo sleep no dream tonightBabel is no tower, son; no, Babel is that holeWhere you long to sing the songs of love but no words are your ownAnd the sun will shine just long enough to show you what you've missedEverywhere bewildered stare, a stranger where you sitBabel is no tower, son; no, Babel is that pitWhere the taxman comes, collects your thoughts and puts them into printThis is all you've given us? This is all there is?Everywhere bewildered stare, a stranger where you sit
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