It began when he came of age
and he sort of stumbled into the trade
Now he lives for the sight of blood
And the sight of a carcass smartly flayed:
He learned the Butcher's cuts and the Butcher's blade
And on and on through Bones he saws
His bloody hands turn into claws
He learned to pare the life away
And he taught that to his blade
But it comes as no surprise
To the ones with eyes to see
That the butcher sees the world
the way the shepherd sees his sheep
And someday you may find
That you hurt just like me
When the eyes you're trapped behind
Are cauterized by all they've seen
And there will be no Sundays
Lying awake, lying alone
Day-dreaming of unsharpened scissors and broken Bones
Every carcass turns into dollar signs
In the Butcher's eyes mean is money
He says, "time is wasting if I'm not cutting"
So he sprang from bed to whet his knife
In the chalky, white moonlight
Tenderize skin and meat and bone
Blind eyes longing to be one with the knife
Tender eyes--skin and meat and bone--
"Blind, I was born into the arms of the night"
