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 f**ker 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 wooly wild hair, you’ll never get him out of there