someone has switched it out of all this
so we put into a bottle
a small parchment tied with band
til we noticed, quite conclusively,
a raw and breathing pattern
being scribbled out by hands in the middle of the sand
so i dig, and i dug,
until i couldn't dug no more
i have reached God's island shore, thank God it's home
and then pound this little mound
without needin' no kettle drum
if I'm your prisoner of intolerant, that is alright.
i'm going to get you
i'm going to get you, anne
only alone
you don't know what it's like
or maybe you do
maybe you do