by Rebecca Loebe

then i woke up far away 

in a house i owned with barely any clothes on 

and a tousled head beside me

i was filthy as a mad woman, 

guilty as a bad person

oh, the night was young and free

and i cried when i began to see

i woke up in a fantasy

i ran barefoot down the halls 

of a farm house in vermont

or was it portland? 

i have never been before 

(or so i thought)

i knew exactly where to find 

what little peace i had in mind

who'd've thought my wandering eye 

would carry me

over so much land and sea

and wake me in a fantasy

and there your hands go 

where they know they shouldn't be

caught in a cookie jar 

your fists aren't threatening

in the dark I roll to you

pour my heart into the room

no one hears me, no one

oh pity me

what a wretched thing to be

woken from a fantasy