Spilt Needles - the Shins

I’ve earned myself an impossible crime

Had to paint myself a hole

And fall inside

If it’s far enough in sight and rhyme

I get to wear another dress

And count in time

Oh, won’t you do me the favor, man

Of forgiving my polymorphing opinion here

On your vague outline

I’ll find myself another burning gate

A pretty face, a vague idea I can’t relate

And this is what you get for pulling pins

Out of the hole inside the hole you’re in It’s like I’m perched on the handle bars

Of a blind man’s bike

No straws to grab, just the rushing wind

On the rolling mind

They want you to decide

Eventually, it happens

Some gather on one side

With all their pearly snapping

They close the basement door

It sets our teeth to chatter

You never saw it before

But now that hardly matters

You’re old enough, boy

Too many summers you’ve enjoyed

So spin the wheel

We’ll set you up with some odd convictions

Because you’re finally golden, boy