You ask why I stay awake
My eyes bleary,
Is it because sheep are born
For deeper pastures
Than what America can afford?
I heard a tale once, I’d see the vision,
Of innocent beasts flocking the hills,
When all I wanted
Was a day I ran with buffalo
On a pebbled plain in Oklahoma,
What sense can I make
When the granite mountain
Is pulverized and processed
Through a shiny mechanical sieve
And has spit out one pebble
For me to grind to a pearl?
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