Deftly fling the lamb's wool
from the stalking wolf's back
and he won't
give himself up
cowering and cold
as you grip that limp garment,
you're gonna see that bastard get nasty

And as he chews your head,
you'll feel those infernal wheels turning
behind his gnarled, grisly temples
How to get out of sight!

he mutters to himself through red spit
How to get out of sight!