Soil under her fingernails.

Run,

run,

far away little one

Far from your clothes and store bought desires.

The words come marching

You see them when you sleep

Yet,they are nothing

Not your fingers or your fangs

Run,

run,

far away little one.

Let your cry be a hymn

But a song unhinged

Call to the moon

Feel the echo in your lungs

Run,

run,

far away little one.

While you're young

To the ocean ,

To the night,
Into the undergrowth

Oh, mother with a knife .