Dear John

I can see the tops of the trees
As the dog howls to my right
Down, down, down
In the hollow

(Holler)

And the fox's mating call beckons him
Bellowing
Echoing
These mountains twist the sounds

And I can see the tree tops
Through wavy glass
Old with age
Victorian elegance by the wayside
As the fox's love song makes my stomach churn

Owwwwww
Ah-ooh
Ah-wooooh
Oww oww