He doesn’t give answers to questions
As he locks up Justice from our ears
And you follow ’till your sense of morality
Completely disappears
By the blue steel walls near the Pentagon
There’s a hidden door She leads you to
These days, She says, I feel all life
Just like a bludgeon running through
The year of the dog.
Well, He looks at us so coldy
And His eyes bead like a beast on the brink
She comes in incense and patchouli
But you rape her, to plant seeds of mass deception
The year of the dog.
Well, morning comes and you’re still horney
And the bus and the homeboys are gone
And you’ve thrown away thy soul and lost thy ticker
But you have to go on
So the drum-beats angst of the night remain
In the fester of the new-born day
You know sometime you’re bound to face Her
But for now you’re going to stay
In the year of the dog.
On a morning from a Bad Movie
In a country where they talk in rhyme
You go strolling through the crowd like Julius Caesar
Contemplating power
She comes out of the sun in a silk dress running
Like a watercolour in the rain
Don’t bother asking for explanations
She’ll just tell you that your naked
In the year of the dog.
Al Stewart/Peter Wood revisited