Visit a monkey in the tree of his life
He doesn't eat the fruit before it is ripe
When the sugar turns to alcohol
He shares his crop with one and all

The alcoholic tangerines are free
The alcoholic tangerines for you
The alcoholic tangerines for me

Monday, November 26, 2018

Wolves at the Door



I built my cabin from logs of new spruce. At the foot of 
the mountain and the edge of the wood.  Not too far 
from a gurgling brook. I can look at it shine in the light of 
the moon.  Perched on top of the richest land I can find. 
The year is eighteen and thirty-nine. 

I came from Ohio across three states, but here in
Missouri my soul snagged its thread. It’s the Adirondike 
mountains I can’t get across. The summer gets hot but 
the winter comes quick. Build a strong warm cabin 
before the snow comes thick. 

It was the last of October when I first heard her voice. 
Like the peal of a trumpet from the top of the hill. 
I heard his reply from miles away and it gave my spine a 
chill. The she-wolf came down to give me a call.  About 
my cabin she paced round and round.

I stood in my cabin with my musket in hand and heard 
her footfalls on the ground outside. I could hear her 
snarl. I could hear her breath, but else I could not 
perceive.  “Wolf,” I said, “I’ve got no hospitality for you. 
I’ll give you nothing but a ball of my lead.”

Cause there were wolves. Wolves at the door. 
Wolves. Wolves at the door. 

Well I stuck my musket through the slot and I shot blind. 
Through the whole valley was heard the report. But when 
it echoed back her voice came through.  “In a fortnight’s 
time I’ll win you true. In these hills with me you’ll run and 
remember this place no more.”

Cause there were wolves. Wolves at the door. 
Wolves. Wolves at the door. 

Those days they came and weeks they went, and God 
can tell how they were spent.  In trepidation and in infirm 
mind the days grew short and cold.  On the fourteenth 
night the sun went down and a carpet of snow lay 
packed on the ground. 

And there were wolves. Wolves at the door. 
Wolves. Wolves at the door.

The moon was high when she led them down. I could 
see it shining in her eyes. At her full stride she came 
down the slope. She lead a pack of twenty. They made a 
circle around my cabin and they came a-caroling. A choir 
in full regalia.

And there were wolves. Wolves at the door. 
Wolves. Wolves at the door. 

They sang me a song and they sang it well. To hear them 
howl it thrilled my soul and to see their jaws a snappin’.  I 
lost my mind in fear and awe. Some fur cropped out all 
over my arms and when I reached behind, the tail I found 
was my own and I was astounded.

And there were wolves. Wolves at the door. 
Wolves. Wolves at the door.

And when their song had come to an end it raised 
the hair on the back of my neck and my skin began to crawl. 
The she-wolf said, “Boy, did you rightly doubt me? We 
came here to make you our own and we’re not going to 
leave without thee.”

And there were wolves. Wolves at the door. 
Wolves. Wolves at the door. 

There comes a time when each must say good-bye to 
his domestic comforts. The soul must run across those 
mountains under the light of the moon. It must raise its 
voice like never before and quit its habitation. I can never 
forget that She-wolf or the night she freed me. 

And there were wolves. Wolves at the door. 
Wolves. Wolves at the door. 




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