The Holding Hand - Iceage

There is no shape, there is no form

But a smoky rolling mass

So it billows like the sea

Surges overcome to pass

Some power exceeds muscle

Even the weightless can outweigh

Put one over in the hustle

Teacher becomes protege

And we row, on we go, through these murky water bodies

Little known, little shown, just a distant call of sound

See the couplets in the sun

In an alabaster hue

Slouched across these spangled acres

Rich outlandish revenue

See it come and see it go

As you find it then it’s lost

Far beyond the holding hand

In a pipe dream double-crossed

And we row, on we go, through these murky water bodies

Little known, little shown, just a distant call of sound

'O limp wristed god, limp wristed god

Don’t you know I’m not at a fault in your weakened arms

Sent off at a breathless pace

Softened come the fall from grace

'O limp wristed god, limp wristed god

Don’t you know I’m not at a fault in your weakened arms

Knocking on your window is a cavalcade

Pleading for relief, a call to aid