When I'm recognised
as an enemy of the state
my dogs may survive the catastrophe
and don the golden collars of the tyrant
I say life was good when I leashed them
with lengths of rope I'd find
and dogs can never be happy with unjust masters.
Into the woods we'd wander where
soon will be a leisure paradise for a price
but heaven was unbranded when 
thin branches whipped our skin
as we ran through puddles and fox shit.
And when my poems and lyrics are unearthed
with old England long sunk under the waves
they won't understand my humour
or know what an ukulele was
but you and I play for our dogs
and there's an untold love in art
anonymous as any mongrel bark
heard clear as a bell while unexplainable.
Yes I'm the enemy of the state
eavesdropping to cheer redemption songs
and you may overhear my jangling efforts 
any time you like.