gone to the dogs

we do not reach the edge and simply wait

for others to catch up and find us there

but plough on further deep in the affair

where there's a margin between will and fate

nothing's disclosed nor open to debate

since we are subject to recoil from care

or be abused and chided anywhere

we utter speech all choices have to grate

there is no reason that we must return

like beaten dogs in summer to this place

yet still you find us trying not to run

from any anger facing the harsh burn

of baying voices shouting out disgrace

at all of those who brave the brassy sun