To this city he was taken,
Softly driven down the vein,
Made the new town stirred and shaken.

Left the sun for me to bake in
And a word of cool disdain
To leave me here, waiting to be taken.

In that land he was awakened
Woken by a girl, again
With high hopes to leave her shaken.

It’s called acting, not just faking.
It’s a chorus, not a refrain.
It’s a quest for things they’d taken.

For his life, and his own sake, in
Hunting round for all new game
The world is placid, never shaken.

Fishing by the very lake, in
Which you tried to drown in vain.
By this lake you were not taken,
But left open and less shaken.