When you heard us whispering through the corridor

Many busy days

we have crossed the threshold,

dangled over the murky bottom,

wrecked and wrought and rampaged,

stolen and been stolen from,

our fingers stained with rasberry blood;

And we've stuck our flag in the dirt

and built our tree houses there,

and buried our dead animals in the soil,

and marked the spot with pretty stones,

we've slept too little,

we've slept too much,

we've seen too little,

we've seen too much.

We've seen too much.