In A Radio Song

Black, black sheep boy, blue-eyed charmer, head hanging with horns from your father - oh, in a cold little mirror you were grown, by a black little wind you were blown, alone, alone, alone. Sad smile on your lips, you shake and shiver. Some animal sips where the river flows from a black little crack in a stone. To a crackle in a radio song, sing along, sing along, sing along. Warm light when your eyes fill with laughter. Some animal lies in the pasture, holes in its throat where the blood was drawn, in its mouth where the

tongue was torn by your

claws, your claws, your

claws. I rose from a dream; we were running from every

being that was hunting, but

we let them get ahead of us.

We let them lie in wait for

us. We're fucked, we're

fucked, we're fucked. I rose

from a dream; I had just

destroyed everything with one crushing blow, and I woke up

and watched it go, and I woke

up and wagged my tongue. So long, so long, so