All the bugs yeah they crawl through the holes digging deeper than the black holes above. Could we ever really die young? Could we ever learn from the start? I got no time. I’ve no rhythm or rhyme. I’m digging on blues. I’ve nothing to lose. All the dirt it crawls through my nose getting hotter than the red coals below. Could we ever really grow old? Could we ever learn from the start? Smooth your mind over from the sheets to the covers and I won’t tell your mother not a soul. Wishing for a moon surrounded by stars who wished for an enigma around these parts.