The Watch-Dog

The Bear is the Mother
The Boy is the Cub
They sit by the River
And divee the grub
Up on the Hill where the buffalo roam
I last saw my boy
And I now want him home want him home
Lord, send that boy home

Steady and able
That boy's a charm
And over the table
A very strong arm
Travel in time
Wish I could
Never would
Reach the sublime
Like a line from
Holywood, Hollywood
When the story's good

The watchdog moved into
The house we once owned
And we've become used to
Him throwing us bones
Somwhere a war
And a fortune to be made
Short supply freedom
And a price to be paid, to be paid
fold a flag above a grave

©Barry Keys 2004