Now packs of wild dogs come at me; thugs gang up on me. They pin me down hand and foot, and lock me in a cage—a bag Of bones in a cage, stared at by every passerby. They take my wallet and the shirt off my back, and then throw dice for my clothes.
They return when the sun goes down, They howl like coyotes, ringing the city. Then suddenly they’re all at the gate, Snarling invective, drawn daggers in their teeth. They think they’ll never get caught.