The summer rainy day with Bon Iver, I looked like winter

Cars squeaked, tires squealed
Empty parking lots, timeless standstill

The blue men and the cushions rocking because a knife was supposed to be behind me

It fell to the ground
He spit, we hit and split, and we murmured endlessly

We crossed the muskrat trail, tiptoed along the river, and sheltered from the rain beneath a jungle tree

I wore a white helmet and the fangless Dracula found us after the bass awoke
Then we ran to cars squeaking and tires squealing

I flew so high up that I needed to sit down and shut up
I rested my head flat on white carpet, canvas I thought
I wasn't artistic that day so I rushed to find a porcelain bowl
Flew so high up that I used a bed that didn't belong to me
Turned away from the bedroom door that didn't belong to me
Had conversations with words that didn't belong to me
We were just in the jungle kicking logs in river
Resting under a jungle tree
Kept under by the rain I couldn't feel
And then nothing belonged to me...