[Intro] (deep breath) Hush. Lie still. Mama's home. [Verse 1] I've been here since the plane went silent, Belly to the dirt, breath low and pliant. The wheat is my cathedral, the meadow is my pew, And every footstep's a hymn sung just for you. I haven't blinked in twenty-seven minutes, My bladder's a balloon — I'm pushing the limits. But patience is a virtue, and virtue is a kill, So I'll lie here 'til the rapture or the circle says I will. [Verse 2] And now the circle's closing, and the wheat is getting thin, And the world is getting smaller, and the world is closing in. The runners have run out of road, the campers can't stay camped, The cowards and the heroes share the same encroaching cramp. I crawl — I do not stand — I crawl through golden grain, A serpent in a sundress with a scope and no refrain. The final fifty metres. The final fifteen souls. And every one of them is praying to a god that don't patrol. [Pre-Chorus] You won't see the muzzle. You won't hear the crack. You'll just feel the floor of the lobby at your back. [Chorus] Hush now, little runner, hush now, little lamb, Mama's in the meadow with a rifle in her hand. Close your weary eyelids, lay your rifle down, Mama's gonna tuck you in the cold, hard ground. Sleep, sweet runner, sleep — Don't you turn around. Don't you make a sound. [Verse 3] Here he comes, the hero, full sprint, full send, Third-person peeking like he's everybody's friend. He's got a level three, he's got a Kar, he's got a plan, He does not have the faintest clue about the woman In the foliage, in the fescue, in the fen, With the eight-times scope and the holding of breath, and then — Knocked. Crawling. Begging for a mate. I could finish him. I won't. I want to watch him wait. [Bridge] Oh, don't look at me like that, darling. I'm not the villain of this piece. You chose to run across the open road. You chose the high-vis fleece. I'm just a humble gardener, Tending to my plot. If something wanders into frame, Well — that's just what it got. [Chorus] Hush now, little runner, hush now, little lamb, Mama's in the meadow with a rifle in her hand. Close your weary eyelids, lay your rifle down, Mama's gonna tuck you in the cold, hard ground. Sleep, sweet runner, sleep — Don't you turn around. Don't you make a sound. [Outro] (sigh) One left. Just me and him. … He's looking the wrong way. (soft laugh) Goodnight, little lamb. (whispered) Bang.
