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