The dog that climbed trees.

The pain of disenchantment cuts like a razor,

It keeps on cutting as you fall back from the bough,

The climbing here is destined to be a failure.

Victory is something, good folk will not allow.

The dog has climbed up the silver gum tree again.

The curious and the judgemental gather round.

They don’t miss an opportunity to complain.

That dog could never live happily on the ground.

The mayor is staring at him and shaking his head,

The counsel hope he'll fall and stop this risky game,

But he won't fall, not this dog, he’d rather be dead.

Better to be free and wild than broken and tame.

I see the citizens chatting to each other.

They really think he will fall. They want him to fall.

They will have a belly laugh with one another.

But that dog won't let them laugh, he’ll just stand tall.

He won't try to reach the top of the silver tree,

He’ll just prove that he can do it and stop a little short,

He'll howl a victorious sounding melody,

The sound of expectation in a noble sport.

Then the good folk below will come to life and hark,

Screaming out to him...."Climb, climb, climb a little more!"

"Hurry, hurry to the top, it will soon be dark!"

He will descend like a soldier back from the war.

And he will look up at the moon but will not bark.