May 23, 2010

Waiting Out The Wolves

At night they circle the campfire

Calling to one another

This one is mine

He's ripe for the plucking

Heads he's mine

Tails he's yours

You always get the head

Aaaah but the tail is where the meat is

Howl a song for me

You know the one about the headless camper

They laugh and howl and chase each others tall tales

With further tales of flesh and consumption

Suddenly the mood changes and the laughter dies

A far more serious tone envelops them

Like the fog it comes upon them silently

It pervades the prey almost sinister

Did you see him?

He's still moving

I don't need to see

I smell his fear

He won't get far......

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