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