Oh, the two white lines, distant Gods an' faded signs
That can't be climbed, just born between
Till they drop like flies, and sink like polished stones
All those endless ends, that can't be tied
Of all the stones I throw, how does that old song go?
Of all those blinking lights, you had to pick the one tonight
Got telephones for eyes, come to you as friends
Holes, dug by little moles, angry jealous spies
Oh, they make me laugh, and always make me cry
That big blue open sea, that can't be crossed
How does that old song go?