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Countryside
Oh, to be a coyote
Deep in the countryside
A feast, a buffet!
Of cows that have died
But the hunters, they prowl, they stalk
They aim, shoot
And you can no longer walk
You followed your own rules
Scavenged alone
And now you find yourself
With no home
For now you are a pelt, a rug
Sitting in this grave you’ve dug
But you can only feel regret, not spite
Because you know what it could’ve been
Just might
If you hadn’t been so proud
Then you could, just maybe
Find yourself in a pack, a crowd
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