| The adders curled around her
|
| Slithering through the windows
|
| Singing «Serpentina
|
| We are your only cover now
|
| Put your hand to the sound
|
| These are the scales you’ll call your own
|
| We’ll come back in August, after the fall
|
| It turns this all red»
|
| Jackals poured around him
|
| Slinking in through the front door
|
| Singing «Canaferal, we are your only refuge now
|
| Put your hand to the sound
|
| This is the fur you’ll call your own
|
| We’ll come back in December, after the winter
|
| Turns this all blue»
|
| Down the shore, down too low
|
| You’ll find the floor, the undertow
|
| Sparrows swarmed around her
|
| Fluttering down the chimney
|
| Singing, «Aviana, we are your only harbor now
|
| Put your hand to the sound
|
| These are the quills you’ll call your own
|
| We’ll come back in April, after the spring
|
| It turns this all green»
|
| Down the shore, down too low
|
| You’ll find the floor, the undertow |