The night sheep trickle
To go and please their masters
They walk by the river
But can’t drink its waters
Now you see the dogs on the run
And they don’t know why
That struggle makes them feel so high
Day after day on the sidewalk the hound
Is ready to push his brother down
When the sun is crawling around
To get another patch of fur sheared
And hear a “Soon you’ll be like me!”
Pigs, oh pigs‘ll never be on the wing
Pigs have fantasies but no dreams
With each light a story is told
Soft wool in red high cranes
Soft growls in Christmas gold
And in the white of bold airplanes
Laughing at eagles in their suffocating ties
Pigs stole the sky
Letters to myself: a diary 