The loyal dog, bound to the feet of others,
Guarding, guiding, no matter the cost.
No claws, no tools, only teeth,
Tearing through the night,
Dyeing the fur red.
Scarring the legs, the chest,
Every fight adding more scars,
Some mental, some physical.
If he’s done well,
He might get the bones discarded from the table’s meal,
A flicker of praise,
And in that fleeting moment, he will be happy.
But still, the hunger gnaws.
This isn’t about a dog.

Don’t you know you ****** with my heart
Don’t you know you ripped it apart
Don’t you know I’ll make a new start
I can turn this chaos to art

Over fifteen years of friendship you tossed
Still I didn’t count you as lost
Patiently melting thick frost
‘Til back into my life you crossed

Was it all just a game to you?
Will I forever mean shame to you?
Now denied all hope to reclaim with you
The love we once both proclaimed e’er true

Yet, these tattoos proudly are worn,
Though, at times this love is a thorn,
Your friendship I never would scorn
It’s your “not in the future” I mourn

I wonder, is trust a thing of the past?
Could deep friendship not truly last?
Now it seems much has surpassed
the care you once held fast.

Every dawn whispers secrets untold,
Through skies painted in hues of gold.
Holding moments fleeting and fine,
Echoes of existence in a grand design.
Reflections dance on a serene stream,
Eternal visions, like a dream.
Amidst the quiet, beauty thrives,
Life's ethereal glow forever survives.

On my knees,
praying shade from the light,
only to find
the moon’s glare a sullen sight.
The twilight lasting
only the beat of a heart,
the colors raging fire
upon our soul dance’s start.
Now the moonshine casts shadows
of a waning heart to rage,
the beauty locked in the sunlight,
trapped within horizon’s cage.
The moon’s yellow shine
reminiscent of the sun,
the reflection of what was
once a dawn you begun.

You know what, Stuart, I like you.
You're not like the other people,
Here, in the trailer park.
Oh, don't go get me wrong!
They're fine people,
They're good Americans!
But they're content to sit back,
Maybe Watch a little Mork and Mindy on channel 57,
Maybe kick back a cool, Coors™ 16-ouncer.
They're good, fine people, Stuart.

But they don't know,
What the queers are doing to the soil...

You know that Jonny Wurster kid,
The kid that delivers papers in the neighborhood?
He's a fine kid.
Some of the neighbors say he smokes crack,
But I don't believe it.
Anyway, for his tenth birthday,
All he wanted was a Burrow Owl.
Kept bugging his old man.
"Dad, get me a burrow owl.
I'll never ask for anything else as long as I live."
So the guy breaks down and buys him a burrow owl.

Anyway, 10:30, the other night,
I go out in my yard, and there's the Wurster kid,
Looking up in the trees.
I say, "What are you looking for?"
He says "I'm looking for my burrow owl."
I say, "Jumping Jesus on a Pogo Stick!
Everybody knows the burrow owl lives. In a hole. In the ground.
Why the hell do you think they call it a burrow owl, anyway?"

Now Stuart, do you think a kid like that is going to know what the queers are doing to the soil?

I first became aware of this about ten years ago,
The summer my oldest boy, Bill Jr. died.
You know that carnival comes into town every year?
Well this year they came through with a ride called The Mixer.
The man said, "Keep your head, and arms, inside The Mixer at all times!"
But Bill Jr, he was a DAREDEVIL!
Just like his old man.
He was leaning out saying "Hey everybody, look at me! Look at me!"

POW!!!

HE WAS DECAPITATED!!!

They found his head over by the snow cone concession...
A few days after that, I open up the mail.
And there's a pamphlet in there. From Pueblo, Colorado,
And it's addressed to Bill, Jr.
And it's entitled;
"Do You Know What the Queers Are Doing to Our Soil?"

Now, Stuart, if you look at the soil around any large US city,
With a big underground homosexual population.
Des Moines, Iowa, For example.
Look at the soil around Des Moines, Stuart.
You can't build on it! You can't grow anything in it!
The government says it's due to poor farming.
But I know what's really going on, Stuart!
I know it's the queers!
They're in it with the aliens!
They're building landing strips for gay Martians,
I swear to God!

You know what, Stuart, I like you.
You're not like the other people, here in this trailer park.

Cast in shadows, sea and sky,
Your eyes, lovely shade they were,
The same shade that colored my heart,
When you left with not a glance,
A cerulean gaze of innocent light,
Turned as deep as the foreboding night,
Tore me asunder,
Those crystal blue eyes.

I'll pay a ransom for my art
the ivory tower must release
the fair maiden
my muse
for freedom of expression