Through the eyes of a dormouse, the world all looks bleak
As those who feign strength prey on the weak.
Shepherds lead sheep to houses of silence,
Empty rooms full of false facing guidance
Led there by lullabies that flatter their sin,
Desperate and desolate,
Metamorphosis begins:
Where sheep turn to songbirds as shepherds thin flocks
Wearing bright winged masks and red woolen smocks
Preening their feathers, and sheering their skin,
Anticipation dripping from each shepherd's grin.
Wolves in sheep's clothing
Would be saying the least,
For their songs herald banquets,
And echo kings' feasts.