For Every Field There's A Mole

For every man who will last

there's nothing he can't get past

no obstacle he cannot erase

for every king there's a crown

and every time I look around

I am the kin of infinite space

for every field there's a mole

with the soil that he stole

and the sightlessness that lets him go free

for every drought there's a rain

and when my earth's in pain

I watch it boil o tearfully

there's a time to sing these things

and a time to have them sung

a time to bring the tune

and a time to have it brung

there's a lap for resting head

there's the only nesting bed

there's the souls to cry among

for the things that don't get sung

and a hand to hold your throat

to stifle that crying choke