In dreams I forget
that I cross to someplace
and shake off what I know
I breathe you in.

(Oohh) They're playing our song.
. . .

These days I'm hard-pressed
In some personal things
to become the shape in your doorway
to bury you under the boards with the rest (rats?)

(Oohh) They're playing our song.
. . .

Run rabbit!
Run, run, Run rabbit run!
I keep missing you.