Wolves (Song Of The Shepherd's Dog)

Wolves by the road

And a bike wheel spinning on a pawn shop wall

She leaned on her colored hair

Like a butterfly wing in a summer rainfall

And the roll on the kitchen floor

Some fucker with a pocketful of foreign change

Song of the shepherd's dog

A pitch in the dark in the ear of the lamb

Who was going to try to run away

Whoever got that brave?

Wolves in the middle of town

And the chapel bell ringing through the wind-blown trees

To wave to the butcher's boy

With the parking lot music everybody believes

And then out like a dying bird

In the corner of the penny arcade

Song of the shepherd's dog

Waiting around the jack call of the rooster

On the rooftop waiting for day

And ain't nobody's going to say

Wolves at the end of the bed

And a postcard hidden in her winter clothes

She beat in the back of a truck

To the trailers when we trying to find the bullet hole

And then run down the canopy rows

Some mother and a baby with a cross to nail

Song of the shepherd's dog

Little brown flea in the bottle of oil

For your woolly wild hair

You'll never get him out of there