Anya Four

The one of you we knew, used to play it short, rage at winter’s Blues, in this consumer light, you return without a phone, not very wise, nothing gives us a clue, no print or written law, if your trail’s well used, did we know your plight, or try to stop you go, with your cards so slight, we’ll never be cool, that beats to others' tones, hard to make the rules, what we know of you, wouldn't let us condone, stuff that’s hard to do, now you’re back home.