Matches

When you look at pretty people

When you think up pretty lies,

Keep your cards on the table,

Keep a jar of little flies,

When they throw you a bone and tell you that you're king,

When the revolution knocks, it's not enough to sing.

Peace ain't enough for the gnawers at your toes,

And it sure ain't a parable the rich man knows.

When the left hand catches what the right hand throws,

And it's everything you pay, but there's nothing that you owe,

The world's unfair, but equally so,

When low is high, and high is low,

And hate masks love, or love masks hate,

When you've built your cell, and you're looking for a mate,

And there ain't no church, and there ain't no steeple,

And your fucking fingers ain't fucking people,

When everyone's wrong but the guy who's speaking,

And nobody's looking, but everyone's peeking.

And everyone's shaking, cause everyone's drowning,

Cause something is missing, and it's somewhere around.

In God, or in war, or somewhere in between,

In some crack in the crystal which keeps it unseen.

In some box in the attic with your mother's old clothes,

Where the moth-balls dance on the snot in your nose,

So go ask the clouds where they've hidden your soul,

Your cosmic connection, your hand in the whole.

Go ask them.  Remember, the holiest word

Still don't mean a thing if it never gets heard.