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, you know what he’s gonna 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, never get him out of there, never get him
Out of there, never get him out of there
There, there now, there, there now
Out of there, there, there now
There, there now
There, there now
There, there now
There, there now
There, there