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
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 thereTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
