The March Hare

The march hare ambles on darting to and fro
Finds his breath for free
A silver fox breaking clocks
Counting back from 10 until it ends with me
As i'm swinging from the trees
Can a mirror rescue me?

The march hare blows his horn
His 19 wives lend ear to a storm come clear
A whisker here a scabbard there
The march hare appears
To understand what's next
And he's pulling on my soul
Just like an overcoat painted red

His faith somewhere his faith somewhere
His faith somewhere for

Whatever will be will be again
Whatever will be will be again
Whatever will be will be again
Whatever will be will be again

Oh swing low bandalier
Your coins are worthless here
For there's no here to leave