We're out patching hills in the dying season
Storming the house, we are breathing its rain
We're sleepy and restless to our waste in the water
We may come to expect we may find each other
One of us underneath covers and tired
The Sun or the rain buried in the isle
The lean veneer and boa pairing (?)
Sink in the ground, but with lion's bearing (?)
Me and You let us lose ourselves
And drive in the dark until we get lost
You and I with our shoes untied
Here in this mercy the sound of our sirens