Wolfen.

Why are you still talking and asking and saying that you're concerned?
When you're more concerned with clawing out my eyes and cracking open my chest?
You won't be happy until you're wearing my insides like a merit badge.
I can read the malice in your hateful squint eyes while you stare.

Does your sheep's clothing ever get itchy?

I don't really know where I'm going with this. Besides the fact that I couldn't stop singing it over and over on the way to Bloomington Saturday night.