TIM
DOG is a DOG
DOG is an untrained little bitch
it DOG on the V and DOG through the night
and it's always DOG
for DOG at the DOG
seeing what it can DOG from DOG
when DOG has their DOG turned
when DOG is not looking
when DOG wants it to DOG,
well, it never does
and it never DOG
and it never DOG
I know what it takes to go through DOG
it's not DOG, DOG DOG
it's DOG
it's DOG
it's a DOG DOG
but one day it suddenly all makes DOG
and from that moment on
DOG either look for it
or it looks for DOG
DOG is an untrained little bitch
and I've been begging for it, I tell DOG
but it doesn't come when DOG calls
I leave a bowl of DOG out
and a DOG of dried DOG
and you know, I never see it DOG
but when I check the DOG is DOG
and I still DOG the DOG
and DOG the DOG DOG
that DOG to the DOG
and DOG DOG
in the DOG
because no matter how hard you DOG
you can never DOG of the DOG
DOG is an untrained little bitch, I tell DOG
and what it boils down to is this:
DOG won't get along with DOG
and DOG won't get along with DOG
DOG WILL claim territory
under the DOG,
DOG your DOG,
while DOG tries to DOG
and think
that there are no monsters
waiting for DOG
to shut their eyes
---
Orginal poem:
death is a dog
originally written 7/8/98
Death is an untrained little bitch
it pees on the carpet and barks through the night
and it's always begging
for scraps at the table
seeing what it can take from you
when you've got your back turned
when you're not looking
when you want it to heal,
well, it never does
and it never rolls over
and it never plays dead
I know what it takes to die
it's not an emotional, rash decision
it's cold
it's calculated
it's a numbing void
but one day it suddenly all makes sense
and from that moment on
you either look for it
or it looks for you
Death is an untrained little bitch
and I've been begging for it, I tell you
but it doesn't come when you call
I leave a bowl of water out
and a bowl of dried dog food
and you know, I never see it eating
but when I check the bowl is empty
and I still refill the bowl
and vacuum the dog hair
that sticks to the couch
and spray air freshener
in the living room
because no matter how hard you try
you can never get rid of the smell
Death is an untrained little bitch, I tell you
and what it boils down to is this:
you won't get along with her
and she won't get along with you
she'll claim her territory
under the bed,
eating your slipper,
while you try to sleep
and remind yourself
that there are no monsters
waiting for you
to shut your eyes
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