In others' mouths the scraping of rocks, who walk a rope run along the ground Into the basket Whither the sky is fatted with ice, come as the earth grows richer of blood - The doe is in season We pull our teeth out laying down in easy places we thicken the air with talk but cover our eyes up with our hands They're shooting the wolves from helicopters can you believe that Out in the wide world the wildest ones are vanishing quickly Out in the wood a passing of hours, in the jailhouse of limb a passing of years Into the casket I will not crouch polluted with law, no traitor to witch no traitor to wolf Judas Iscariot Now the white wool has twisted round the land, the cowering altar and matricide borne. The stones they are screaming I could call them men but they are not men, faces like blood rags, yet dressed to the fines. Chariots surround us but it won't be the witches that are burning this time
