I am trying to know
why i just can't make it close.
Fill the hole
with jazz bastards, Pink Floyd, Bob Marley,
no no no
the hole is still there
chilly wind's blowing through it
and cold snow flake's dripping through.
Grooving with invisible melodies
passing churches and trees
tricky hole kicked butt the fake me
Why can't i just be?
leaving the mask, drifting melancholy
like autumn stream of no energy
harbor myself at The Only
beautiful people in beautiful colours
skanky noises, big boots, girls with ties
laughter, colours, so cool, so trivial
glassy eyes, red wine, talking, loving
busy filling holes in their only souls
the unbearable lightness of being
now i know
so i gotta go with Bob's echo
"easy skanking, skanking it slow
from the reality that i just can't drift"
take it easy, take it slow
giving the soul time to fill its own hole.
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