When the quiet sounds come calling
He is a lamb, a sheep, awandering.
The wolf underneath is stirring
As he drifts pillow silent and free
Unchecked in the sense of direction
He this ways and thats with an ease
The wolf-howl asilences conscience
He is drifter, unacknowledged retreat.
And so the fell gambit is hailed
A breaking of chains that suspend
To tumble down fallings and wailings
And gnashings of teeth cut blade sharp
As they gnaw through the the ends.
And the links pitter patter in hailings
Creep at snail's pace, the thoughts
Climb back beneath his scalp
The mirror, the liar, the candlestick maker
In light he sees true, sees the call of the moon
Sees the wolf in sheep dress
All astir all ablend, just a cloud
In a sheep-tufted land.