You left the lights on. The battery’s gone dead. Check the bus stop and opt to jog instead. Cut across the path in the back but we’re way too loud. You’re laughing in your classic style and stumbling around. Hop up on a tree stump, but I can’t jump the fence unless I strip two feet off the end of my dress. Anna sees us running away and she calls the police, and you start clutching at your chest like you’re trying to breathe. And I know, and I know, and I know what you’re doing. And I know, and I know, and I know what you’re doing. And I know, and I know, and I know what you’re doing. And I know. Tapping into NORAD on my Commodore 64 would be an easier thing to do than get you through that door. Sliding down the drainpipe again, we make another attempt, with the same hedging from you and the same struggle for breath. Chorus. This guarantees we won’t get far. Val left her inhaler in the car.