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
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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 [bad word]  we're [bad word]  we're [bad word]  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