Sam

My parents went to make Sam dead
and he ain’t coming back again.
It’s where they’ve gone; it’s what they’ve said.
My parents went to make Sam dead.

“We’ll take him to the farm. You’ll see!”
when there isn’t any farm, really.
It’s where they’ll set his spirit free,
it’s where they’ll make Sam dead

“It’s where all good dog go and play
and sing songs every single day!”
But really where they’re piled on hay,
but really where they’ll make Sam dead.

He’s old he’s fat he’s blind he hurts,
but I can’t think what could be worse
with this old “farm” to take his curse,
to go and make Sam dead.

My parents gave up ‘fore Sam did
and sent him to his stormy sin,
judgment, pain and howls, no grins.
At the vet they’ll make Sam dead.

My parents went to make Sam dead
not knowing what goes through my head.
My poor old dog! He never said
“I hurt. I’m old. Please make me dead.”

Though they simply did not care
and now they'll rip him up. They'll tear!
they'll take him from this world. They dare!
My parents went to make my poor Sam dead.