Lyrics:

The hands in my pockets are like buckets in the ocean -
they sink but I know where they are.

And the buckets in an ocean are like hands in my pockets -
attached to my arms they don't go far.

And the hands in my pockets are like buckets in an ocean -
treasure they might recover.

And the buckets in an ocean are like hands in my pockets -
a strange creepy thing they might uncover.

My hands are leaves tumbling down,
down we slip into a quiet inner world.
Bubbles.
Bubbles of lint.
Where the sunlight is rarely seen,
and the moon is a golden dream.