WOLVES (SONG OF THE SHEPHERD'S DOG)


Wolves by the road and a bike wheel
Spinning on a pawnshop wall
She’ll wring out her colored hair
Like a butterfly beaten in a summer rainfall
And then roll on the kitchen floor
Of some fucker with a pocketful of foreign change
The song of the shepherd's dog,
A ditch in the dark in the ear of the lamb
Who’s going to try to run away
Whoever got that brave

Wolves in the middle of town
And a chapel bell ringing through the windblown trees
She’ll wave to the butcher's boy
With the parking lot music everybody believes
And then dive like a dying bird
At any dude with a dollar at the penny arcade
The song of the shepherd's dog,
The waiter and the check
Or the rooster on a rooftop waiting for day
And you know what he's going to say

Wolves at the end of the bed
And a postcard hidden in her winter clothes
She’ll weep in the back of a truck
To the traitors only trying to find her bullet hole
And then run down a canopy road
To some mother and a baby with a cross to bear
The song of the shepherd's dog,
A little brown flea in the bottle of oil
For your wool, wild hair
You'll never get him out of there