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