Frida

22 may 1987 – 8 january 2003

Wouldn’t fetch sticks. Wouldn’t fetch slippers.

Wouldn’t play nice with moronic poodles.

Wouldn’t go for long walks in cold weather.

Wouldn’t take shit from dogs 10 times her size.

Would eat anything that didn’t bite back.

If dogs run free, then why not we?
Across the swooping plain
My ears hear a symphony
Of two mules, trains and rain
The best is always yet to come
That's what they explain to me
Just do your thing, you'll be king
If dogs run free

If dogs run free, why not me?
Across the swamp of time
My mind weaves a symphony
And tapestry of rhyme
Oh, winds which rush my tale to thee
So it may flow and be
To each his own, it's all unknown
If dogs run free

If dogs run free, then what must be
Must be, and that is all
True love can make a blade of grass
Stand up straight and tall
In harmony with the cosmic sea
True love needs no company
It can cure the soul, it can make it whole
If dogs run free.

Yeah, this is cheesy. Fuck you. I miss her.

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