Someone has switched it out of all this So we put into a bottle A small parchment tied with band Til we noticed, quite conclusively, A raw and breathing pattern Being scribbled out by hands in the middle of the sand So i dig, and i dug, Until i couldn't dug no more I have reached God's island shore, thank God it's home And then pound this little mound Without needin' no kettle drum If I'm your prisoner of intolerant, that is alright. I'm going to get you I'm going to get you, anne Only alone You don't know what it's like Or maybe you do Maybe you do