A ghostly he(?), that bringeth his imperfections And boast of the work that we have not yet done Many a mile, to freedoms unlimited And that is this, and so forth, and right on But by and large, Blood of the vine, fruit of the womb, sweat of the brow and nothing to show but destitution For the rest of your days you must dig a deeper hole And then you'll feel better So spies feel wise, with flies around the flies(?) Motors to the checkpoint, not prepared for flight Now a new discovery's been made We'll cover up the cover ups and move on