This is the song for Baby Birch.

I will never know you.

And at the back of what we've done,

there is that knowledge of you.

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I wish we could take every path.

I could spend a hundred years

adoring you.

Yes, I wish we could take every path,

because I hated to close

the door on you.

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Do you remember staring,

up at the stars,

so far away in their bulletproof cars?

We heard the rushing, slow intake

of the dark, dark water,

and the engine breaks,

and I said,

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How about them engine breaks?

And, if I should die before I wake,

will you keep an eye on Baby Birch?

Because I'd hate to see her

make the same mistakes.

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When it was dark,

I called and you came.

When it was dark, I saw shapes.

When I see stars, I feel, in your hand,

and I see stars,

and I reel, again.

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Well mercy me. I'll be goddamned.

It's been a long, long time

since I last saw you.

And I have never known the plan.

It's been a long, long time.

How are you?

Your eyes are green. Your hair is gold.

Your hair is black. Your eyes are blue.

I closed the ranks, and I doubled back--

but, you know, I hated to close

the door on you.

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We take a walk along the dirty lake.

Hear the goose,

cussing at me over her eggs.

You poor little cousin.

I don't want your dregs

(A little baby fussing all over my legs).

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There is a blacksmith,

and there is a shepherd,

and there is a butcher-boy,

and there is a barber, who's cutting

and cutting away at my only joy.

I saw a rabbit,

as slick as a knife,

and as pale as a candlestick,

and I had thought it'd be harder to do,

but I caught her, and skinned her quick:

held her there,

kicking and mewling,

upended, unspooling, unsung and blue;

told her "wherever you go,

little runaway bunny,

I will find you."

And then she ran,

as they're liable to do.

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Be at peace, baby, and begone.

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