The Dog at My Door


Theres a dog at my door, he's tring to get in.
I'm not gonna let him, he's not gonna win.
He can chew at the knob, he can scratch at the paint.
See hes's tring to get in, but i'm tellin ya he aint.
Cuz there's no dogs allowed in this place I call home.
I bet he's got fleas, and a mouth full of foam.
Said there's no dogs allowed, keep him out of this place.
He might sniff out my stash or get up in my face.
He might knock over bottles I need to survive.
Should that happen I swear he wont leave here alive.
Better get on the phone, call animal control.
There's a dog at my door, and he's after my soul.
What the HELL does want? Why on EARTH is he here?
Is he sensing my sickness? Is he smelling my fear?
Now the chewing is louder, the scratching is bad
and i find myself thinking of the things I once had.
Now i've been here for hours, maybe days, maybe years.
Turning my engine, grinding my gears.
Seems i've got nothing left, against all of my hoping;
that dogs coming in as the door starts open.
"COME AND KILL ME!" I say. "IS'NT THAT WHY YOU'RE HERE?"
He just looks at me kindly, and holds up a mirror,
and says: "YOUR REFLECTION IS a BLESSING, NOT a CURSE.
GAZE INTO the MIRROR, LOOK AT ME in REVERSE".
So I do for a moment, then it strikes me as odd.
For when I look at him backwards, that DOG becomes GOD.
The whole time I thought i knew what he was about.
He was'nt trying to get in; he was trying to let me out.

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