I may be a dog, lonesome and humble
And I hear your reply, under your breath.
I have a mouth, that means not I mumble
I have ears, but that means not I am deaf.
I may be a lamb, gazing distant fields
And I can see your fist raise to the left
I may have wisdom, although not from guilds
I may have morals, although they aren't cleft.
I may be a man, curious and brave
And I can see your mood change, to strife's gain
I have arms, that means not I'll dig your grave
I have the tract, for any given pain.
Patience, my friend, can win a mere battle
The only kind bred for death, are cattle.