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