Yesterday i heard you say
"a man is coming down our way"
i wander will he be
the one that tore and bruised my knee
the one that shoved and spat and drove
the very phantom from this cove
will he wear the look of fear
when his breathe is very near
will he shake and stumble so
over words that come and go
will he take me in his vice
and worm around to his delight
will he cough and shout out glee
when i am folded on his knee
will this tremble go unsaid
when he is polishing his head
will he tie me to the bed
and drudge the dirt
and shame that's fed
mark me out
i am not free
as i know he has his sights
on me
i will be put upon his shelf
as a trophy to his wounded self
a token of a twisted Cree
yes, when i am seated on his knee
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