No Knife Hit Man Dreams
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.
