A message comes, a message goes, and I'm left with nothing.
My mission, you see, is to only deliver a message.
I don't care for messages anyway, I keep my mouth shut.
I watch on the edge of the field, how the wheat sways.
(hello, hello, hello, hello)
I would reap, if someone would sow,
But I'm only a telephone pole
I don't have opinions, I don't think at all.
No other ties except the next pole.
If I sometimes think of something, I can't get it said.
I on the side of the track and my top rots.
(hello, hello, hello, hello)
Politically, I don't own a spine,
I only support the telephone line.
(hello, hello, hello, hello)
You sit, phone in your ear, but you don't remember me,
Even though your connections are sometimes international.
You get information from the world, you shut it in an archive
And with the new information I'm already ready.
(hello, hello, hello, hello)
The digital system has taken the glamour from the job
And the line from the pole
(hello, hello, hello, hello)
Summer heats, snowstorm, I live a poles life.
Sometimes the plugs burn or the kids stone.
And digging the line into the ground hardly solves,
Grease-fingered excavator driver cuts the hot line
(well, hello)
(hello, hello, where are you?)
(there's no one here)
Soon under the ground it has lost its proud posture,
Mental life of a telephone pole.
Soon under the ground it has lost its proud posture,
Mental life of a telephone pole.