The Holding Hand

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 protégé 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 Oh 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 Oh 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 --- The Holding Hand - Iceage