when the night comes, cold and darkness
sweep the sun-kissed clouds away
and it’s black out; starless; wintry
and the mist is damp and gray
and the whistling…can you hear it?
you might think it’s just the wind
but it’s distant, lonely whistling
of the cavemen who have sinned
and who live alone on mountains
with their hearts encased in ice
with no company, except
some black-winged bats, some filthy mice
and when their hearts melt, they’re forgiven
(takes a decade, maybe two)
so to pass the time, they whistle hooosh
and cry a lingering oooooh
it’s a sound that’s sad and scary
and it doesn’t go away
‘til the sinners ooooh
themselves to sleep
and once again, it’s day.
