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