You and them woods, men. You and them trees. Shake my head, men. Trees you see. Trees! you holler. Home I holler. Listen! Me in them woods, men. Me, your dream.
Leave them trees alone, men. Trees, twisted thickets of spruce, men. You know twisted thickets, your head, men, them woods, yet the bog at the center, the muck there, the murk there, you only dream. Skinny legs sunk in swamp, them trees. Them trees, I scratch my chin with them. Dream is what we are, the bog there, me, the murk at the center of what you holler to see, men.
Dreamstep I do, big foot ramble through spruce, through dreams, through muck. Me in the deep spruce there, see me men, yet them blobsquatch photograph you make, them show swamp shadow and murk dream. Proof! holler that men. Holler that, yet men doubt your dream, men.
Dream men! Dream! Them bog foot swampstep show me. Yet, men, twisted steps that get sunk in muck are evidence of absence, men, absence points deeper men, under the muck, men, dream deeper.