you're like a babycry
buried in a corn field
when the soul of our sun
beats under your hat
craving for a drought
and you start to sink deeper
inside your own body
just like I try to hide out
in the scarf of the wind -
it's looking for me
and I'm looking for you
right, right under your hat
as if I were a weak shadow
that asks for solace
under the ****** sunset -
hot.