Though it's our trash
It's your buffet
It's much easier
than catching your prey

The mice scurry around
and you look away
It doesn't matter to you
You can catch them any day

The city pigeons fly high above
While you lay on the stone ground
It seems that you've lost your love
C'mon, let's go to the pound

What?
What do you mean?
You don't want to go?

Alright little cat
No means no

And with that, you scurry into the darkness
never to be seen again, much like the lochness