Black Sheep

Tamed werewolves

Howl woefully

To the rhythm set by

A conductor's baton.

One–two–three–four–

One–two–three–four–

The magic wand rises and falls,

Swishes the air.

Good men during the day,

Good boys at night,

The werewolves sing their song

Of devotion and despair.

Fleeting moments and retrospective thoughts,

What ifs... But time moves strictly forward.

No second chances.

You see, the werewolves were tasked

To herd black sheep.

They diligently served their shifts

Throughout the day.

But when the night fell,

The flock dissolved under its veil.

The sky was miserly

That night. No moon, no stars.

Black night, black sheep—

Hence, consequences: no promotion,

No acceptance.

The baton passes from hand to hand,

And now it's clenched by that big fella,

He will enforce the law.

Obey.

The singing stopped,

The fighting started.

Destroy, and smash, and burn!

Sharp fangs, steel guns.

Barricades, somebody's baby crying,

Terrified. The pasture's trampled down,

The sheep are gone. The werewolves—dead.

And the orchestra's one last man stands there

Upset, confused. When things went wrong?