Mark Lenover It Howls
It came up from the wetlands, under Waverly Hill
It came, quiet and crazy, then it stood perfectly still
It stunk of the tunnel, it stunk of dying too young
It had ash on it's eyelids and it had snow in it's lungs
And the evening came running, like a slave at it's beck and call
It's girls hide in letters, and they play in it's halls
It's boys sleep in garbage, and they come when they're called
It, cringing, comes at you it's teeth chattering in time
It cracks at it's sternum, and it's light of it's mind
It whispers and worries, as the vandals on watch unwind
It fell at Wood-haven, and lay splintered and cold
On a heavy foundation, sinking into the soil
It stinks of the tunnel, and it's casts are undone
It's got ash on it's eyelids, it's got blood on it's tongue
So in a bed of old rafters it takes the wind to it's lungs and howls'
