while everybody's sleeping, this town is mine.

time can make more rubble
out of dreams than anything
in a quiet neighbourhood
where she's living without wings
there's eyes behind the curtains
and there's ears below the floor
cracks inside the ceiling
and shadows at the door
the boredom stirs a rage inside her soul
a rage that reaches out and takes control
she's a wild thing.

nine days out alone
sleeping in the dirt
she walks back into town
with blood stains on her shirt
everyone has questions
but no one wants to know
how far the anger in someone
can really make them go
tangled hair and mud stains on her knees
bruised ribs and rips inside her jeans
she's a wild thing.