Screaming like a dog at the dawn
Upon the wake of its burning.
Your summer evening's epitaph,
Of a dirty mudstained moonlight.
Down by the broken road
The old man sleeps in his bed
Of straw, desolation, and despair
His dreams wreak that havoc
As the box Pandora opened once.
He had feathers one time ago
But those wings just flew away
Leaving his heart open to the dog
That screams at its waking burning
Within that ball that floats the sky.