They'll eat anything the flooded desert throws away.
They're taken from place to place in crates to graze.
They would lay with the lions if the Bible wasn't changed
And would gladly be with wolves now, without question.
Yet they do not seem content to live this way,
Seeking only the assurance of their neighbor
That it will, somehow, someday, make sense.
They can't be bothered risking their right to think,
For there's no one anywhere not following orders
Except the odd groundhog, who hides underfoot
In the pipes and beneath the planter beds
And survives by knowing everything is wrong
And will never make sense, what is the point
Of being kind to a lie, or of service if you're sacrificed?
Thus it stays within this world of slavery and pain
While the sheep count angels before they dream.
