In the days of silken bindings
A leather leash beneath it all,
The dog saw his chance
And ran, never looking back
As he leaped towards tomorrow.
His favorite bone tucked in his jaw,
He didn’t mind the barbed wire’s caress.
The dog just slipped beneath the lowest line
And left the pasture fading far behind.
It’s not like the world’s a prison.
It’s not like houses all are homes.
It’s not as if all the love in the world
Can substitute for running
All the rabbits you know need chasing
before the weary sun falls into bed.
So the dog is on the road
And roams where the scent will lead;
And sometimes roads are homes
And homes are more than what they seem.
And adventure is a home
-- homes are more than what they seem.
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