The Hole

(spoken intro)
A reporter for the Manchester Guardian asked me, nearly a year ago now, why I didn't write any songs about the human condition, which he was in and out of most of the time. I don't, but the nearest I've got to it is a song called "The Hole"

After work on Friday I was waiting for a bus
My mouth was dropping open and my gaze was vacuous
And in the British worker's classic pose I was leaning on a door
When half way down the wormy woodwork quite by chance I saw a little hole

Well I know it sounds ridiculous, I know it's awfully odd
But I suddenly felt like giving that little hole a furtive prod
So I popped my finger in and then I waggled it about
But once I'd got the bleeder in, I couldn't get the bleeder out of the hole
The hole!

Just a little hole in a door, in a door
Opposite the bus stop of the number 74
Suddenly my humdrum life was out of my control
When I set my wretched eyes upon the hole

Into the night I heaved and strained but still without success
Then a constable came and asked me for my name and my address
He said I can pull you in for loitering and maliciously lingering
And furthermore you're not supposed to have your finger in that there hole
The hole!

Just a little hole in a door, in a door
How was I to know that I was breaking the law?
They sent a big Alsatian and a vice squad patrol
When they heard about my finger and the hole

A crowd sprang up, the streets were full, the public formed a queue
The national press and the BBC got ready to interview
They said just smile please for the cameras, and do stop fidgeting
Now tell the world just what it feels like with your digit inside a hole
The hole!

Just a little hole in a door, in a door
Small, dark recess, nothing less, nothing more
It may seem quite absurd but it is anything but droll
Posing for your picture with your finger up a hole

And then they sent a special doctor with a special rubber glove
And a very special finger and a very special shove
And he stroked around and groped around and wrote down in his book
The patient is doing nicely but he's got his finger stuck up a hole
The hole!

Just a little hole in a door, in a door
Up came the fire brigade with choppers galore
The door flew off its hinges, it was quite a rigmarole
They took us off to prison, me, the door, and the hole

And then when I appeared in court I cried, M'Lud, it isn't fair
Man will always poke up holes, m'Lud, because they're there
I'm innocent, I've drunk too deeply from life's bitter cup
And if you don't believe me get your worshipful finger up any old hole
The hole!

Just a little hole in a door, in a door
Seems I've got to live with it for now and evermore
So vicar come and give a wash-and-brush-up to me soul
'Cause I'm off to meet my maker with my finger up an everlasting hole