Kids get lost, lambs out wandering. Bigger, blacker things go following them into a patch of forest somebody once planted for this song. (It's not over. Phones are still ringing. Eyes are still rolling, eyes are still clinging. Something in the air starts singing….Radios switched on and buzzing. Something in the wind starts humming. Something in the field starts hunting…) Kids grow up and kids go numb. And, kids, it's coming. Kids, it's going to come.