Texty: Pink Floyd. Sheep.

Harmlessly passing your time in the grassland away,
only dimly aware of a certain unease in the air
You better watch out, there may be dogs about.
I've looked over Jordan, and I have seen things are not what they seem.

What do you get for pretending the dangers not real.
Meek and obedient you follow the leader
down well trodden corridors, into the valley of steel.
What a surprise! A look of terminal shock in your eyes.
Now things are really what they seem. No, this is no bad dream.

The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want He makes me down to lie.
Through pastures green He leadeth me the silent waters by.
With bright knives He releaseth my soul.
He maketh me to hang on hooks in high places.
He converteth me to lamb cutlets.
For lo, He hath great power, and great hunger.
When cometh the day we lowly ones,
trough quiet reflection and great dedication,
master the art of karate,
lo, we shall rise up,
and then we'll make the buggers eyes water.

Bleating and babbling I fell on his neck with a sream.
Wave upon wave of demented avengers
march cheerfully out of obscurity unto the dream.

Have you heard the news? The dogs are dead!
You better stay home and do as you're told,
get out of the road if you want to grow old.