[ Featuring Destruction, Steven Lambke ]
Who's that craven little scribe
Chording from a hovel
Dancing on the face
Of the spade of the shovel
Squawking human while the
Catbirds trill triple double double
Truth might be a ring
A singsong thing
The good crow scolds the peregrine from below
It knows the robin pinned under the toe
Not a parry for every thrust
Sometimes thwart sometimes shush
Sometimes the wish bone is the clavicle
Of a pack animal
Murder in the morning
To feed the young
Strange tides amok in the
Great Unsung
Truth might be a ring
A singsong thing
The I in the it in the bit
In the none
