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Dead
We get home last night
And there’s no bark,
And there he is,
Stretched out dead,
Dead, dead. Dead,
I know, dogs die
Every day man,
Could be a wake up
Call I suppose,
Sooner or later
We are all found
In a heap,
Bodies deserted
By spirit, energy, soul
Gone who in the hell
Knows where,
Strange isn’t it ...
We start to die
When we are born,
Do we start to live
When we die?
Stephen Nesbitt ©
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