Beg for a Wheelbarrow

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