Dog

作词:佚名

作曲:College;Ferlinghetti

所属专辑:A Coney Island Of The Mind

歌词

@migu music@

The dog

The dog trots freely in the street and sees reality

And the things he sees are bigger than himself

And the things he sees are his reality

Drunks in doorways

Moons on trees

The dog trots freely thru the street

And the things he sees are smaller than himself

Fish on newsprint

Ants in holes

Chickens in Chinatown windows

Teir heads a block away

The dog trots freely in the street

And the things he smells smell something like himself

The dog trots freely in the street

Past puddles and babies

Cats and cigars

Poolrooms and policemen

He doesn’t hate cops

He merely has no use for them

And he goes past them

And past the dead cows hung up whole in front of the San Francisco Meat Market

He would rather eat a tender cow than a tough policeman

Though either might do

And he goes past the Romeo Ravioli Factory

And past Coit’s Tower

And past Congressman Doyle

He’s afraid of Coit’s Tower

But he’s not afraid of Congressman Doyle

Although what he hears is very discouraging

Very depressing

Very absurd to a sad young dog like himself to a serious dog like himself

But he has his own free world to live in

His own fleas to eat

He will not be muzzled

Congressman Doyle is just another fire hydrant to him

The dog trots freely in the street

And has his own dog’s life to live and to think about and to reflect upon

Touching and tasting and testing everything

Investigating everything without benefit of perjury

A real realist with a real tale to telland a real tail to tell it with

A real live barking democratic dog

Engaged in real free enterprise

With something to sayabout ontology

Something to sayabout reality

And how to see it

And how to hear it

with his head cocked sideways at streetcorners

As if he is just about to have his picture taken for Victor Records

Listening for His Master’s Voice

And looking like a living questionmark

Into the great gramaphone of puzzling existence

With its wondrous hollow horn

Which always seems just about to spout forth

Some Victorious answer to everything

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