Two miles shy of Utopia
we go to jail, we can not make bail
Bars on the window, stripes on my tail
Incarcerated till we're old and frail
Locked in a chamber of thought we sigh
pondering always, that question- why?
chaing our tails, stripes and all
^s^
We heard the call and dared to fall
Can we still claim grace?
Perhaps in Utopia but not at this place