Sing to a Fox
If you have a dream and are wounded bird,
You kill the essence of the dream in pain;
Then the poorest salves are applied for hope.
It is useless to strive for what you’ve heard.
Like every prisoner who won’t complain,
With scraps from the master’s table you cope.
If black is my daydream, so is the white,
And I can’t find the key to my freedom.
I’ll pet the dog who won’t bother to bite.
I’ll act in a role and call myself dumb
But choose whom I let into my kingdom.
After awhile I’ll walk during the night
And spit on all questions of might and right.
I’ll sing to a fox, “Dum dee dee dum dum.”