Is it the meat we want?
Dogs were the first to go away from home that was called home just because the mothers gave us our lives there. We had to, lives were not good. But, when you’re young everything is life; when you jump in the mud or when you play with your brother. It was called home, although it was everything but home. You know it the best, that house keeps you dry at rains, while the home is protected by you because home made you. As bad as it was, it was still better then outside; where were no fathers nor mothers, there were starving children that stab each other for a piece of meat. And everybody was running for that piece of meat. If they don’t get it, they lick the wounds and make wolves of themselves and run down to the sheeps and cut their throats. The bigger ones were pissing their territory and buying young and wild ones to growl on weaker, always by imperial fury, rarly out of love tightening chains.
Shepherds were alive at first, good workers, just dogs, looking after sheep; but here as there are no sheep, there are no shepherds. All slaughtered by the wolves. Oppressors leaveng herds and rode alone. With no eyes, brainwashed crazy for power to kill others. They didn’t see Sun nor Moon, blind of tumor that poisoned their wishes. Drilling skies bleeding through the clouds every one rose up high but every one will fall down and burry themselves in the ground of grandparents.
The wild one will let the blood flow over the field which his son will be eating from. And the son will be made of that ground, he will be the ground, to other sons all cursed to be reckless. Father, I am coming to you. I hope you will make me a tea for I have frozen for life and got of from running from rabid dogs. Expect me with a piece of meat for the dinner.