I am desperately swimming out of the black and into color, 

Wondering whatever happened to her? 

We were running, running from every care, 

And the last thing I felt was her hair. 

Soft as silk, pure as gold, 

We were running from what we were told. 

"It couldn't be love," they said. 

Now I am afraid she will wash up dead.

Where were we running? 

How could they be so cunning? 

Knowing we'd run they set up the trap, 

And we were caught in its sticky sap. 

Wait-- what-- a window? 

And behind it remains only her bow. 

Hazel! Hazel where... 

Then my breathe no longer cuts through the air. 

I am frozen in the tundra of fear. 

The rain begins falling as a single tear. 

Then it drops and I make the silent scream; 

Her golden hair, my wet dream.