Black lamb, in the foggy field.
Night’s rain still in your wool.
Cold eyes make me now yield.
Winter makes a summery fool.
What is the dream you have here?
Hunger, the demon. Comfort, the sin.
The sun will swallow us soon, I fear.
Life feeds on death; innocence can’t win.
Black lamb, you look on me, full of hate.
Knife in my hand, in hunger I slaughter.
Hunger, comfort, the inevitable weight.
Knife in my hand, the ministry of water.