I am looking for the holes
The holes in your jeans
Because I want to know
Are they worn out in the seat
Or are they worn out in the knees
There are so many ways to wear
What weve got before its gone
To make use of what is there
I dont wear anything I cant wipe my hands on
Do your policies fit between the headlines
Are they written in newsprint, are they distant
Mine are crossing an empty parking lot
They are a woman walking home
At night
Alone
They are six string that sing
And wood that hums against my hipbone
We cant afford to do anyone harm
Because we owe them our lives
Each breath is recycled from someone elses lungs
Are enemies are the very air in disguise
You can talk a great philosophy
But if you cant be kind to people
Every day
It doesnt mean that much to me
Its the little things you do
The little things you say
Its the love you give along the way
When we patch things up
They say a job well done
But when we ask why
Where did the rips come from
They say we are subversive
And extreme, of course
We are just trying to track a problem to its source
Because we know we cant sit back
And let people come to harm
We owe them our lives
Each breath is recycled from someone elses lungs
Our enemies are the very air
Our enemies are the air
We are looking for the holes
The holes in your jeans
Because we want to know
Are they worn out in the seat
Or are they worn out in the knees
