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City Cattle.
I thank the heavens
that guide my way,
my feet aren't bound
to path's of clay.
Where cities call
a daily battle,
and shuffling feet
draw pay cheque cattle.
Penned by windows,
gates of glass
invite escape but
none may pass.
untill the herdsman's
whistle calls,
and freedom beckons
through the halls.
To crowd once more
past hills of stone,
where Tarmac rivers
lead them home.
