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 we've got before, it's gone
To make use of what is there
I don't wear anything, I can't 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 can't afford to do anyone harm
Because we owe them our lives
Each breath is recycled from someone else's lungs
Are enemies are the very air in disguise
You can talk a great philosophy
But if you can't be kind to people every day
It doesn't mean that much to me
It's the little things you do
The little things you say
It's 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 can't sit back
And let people come to harm
We owe them our lives
Each breath is recycled from someone else's 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

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