"Cat"

Cat, you tumble down the street.
As if it were your bed.
I think such luck's a treat,
Like feeding without being fed.
Always hunting.

You're just a pawn in the hands
Of fate,
   as stones are,
   and people !
You follow your instinct and glands;
What you feel you feel --- it's simple.
Hunting Dogs.

Because you're like that you're happy;
You're all the nothing you see.
I look at myself --- it's not me.
I know myself --- I'm not I...