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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
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