"The Dog" genre: Acoustic
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	Acoustic guitar, flute, and beatnik poetry
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	Story Behind the Song Rob: wood and wire; Eshinee: skin and bone; Marco: flute; Chris: drums Lyrics THE DOG The dog walks down the streets of town like he thinks he owns the road, like an urban sultan past his harem whores. He lives in a world of looking glass ties and the myriad mailbox things and he glances casually at the men he can't afford. He don't give a damn about the political man-- it just seems like a fire hydrant to him. And the fax machines and the laser beams and things dogs don’t understand just seem like a fire hydrant to him. Pretty people piece together a rainbow of truth while the dog sees things in gray and black and white. You can call him stupid while he's howling at the moon tonight; it's okay because in the end everything’s all everything’s all right and the men in white with their apocalyptic signs just seem like a fire hydrant to him. And the cats up in the trees and the street refugies just seem like a fire hydrant to him. The dog thinks real the things he feels, digs stacatto scents and Glass, jams past the porter with his pompous groove. The dog digs Plato and his imaginary friends; he can scat that special kind of jazz. And he don’t give a damn about the polyester Prince-- it just seems like a fire hydrant to him. And the fax machines and the laser beams and things dogs don’t understand just seem like a fire hydrant to him.

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