The changes started to rattle his cage
Though well accustomed with his rage
The bodies piled three or four higher
When after one he could retire,
Until moonlight whistled his tune.
Was this crisis the product of poor pay
Or his eyebrow turning grey?
The one thing keeping him a man
Was the brush of her hand
Until moonlight whistled his tune.
The branches start to tussle
He stirs his bed of leaves rustle
Another lover, another clue;
A slowly closing bullet wound.
He found just as rings formed around Saturn
The universe left him a pattern,
His curse is his own, best be alone.
Then moonlight whistled his tune.
Before he hangs his wool coat one last time
Without tempting silver bullet fate
It dawns on him to go paw in paw is the only way
Then moonlight whistles his tune.
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