When wounds open yet again,
tears never failing to flow,
I curl up in the lion’s den,
listening to lullabies they think they know.
I cry out like a mewling lamb,
my hopes and dreams clawed to death,
thoughts flood out from a broken dam,
though on my neck I feel their hot breath.

Mary, I am a little lamb,
but my fleece is not snowy white,
take me in as company, if you can,
so I may see the light.
The journey that has dirtied me,
it’s lonesome, weary, true,
but perhaps it shall not be,
with a nice friend such as you.

You took me in and fed me well,
now I must say goodbye,
to wander down where monsters dwell,
I’ve avoided them too long and to face them I must try.

Mary had a little lamb,
her fleece became white as snow,
it seems she has run off again,
and this time remains alone.