MAD DOGS DON’T CRY

MAD DOGS DON’T CRY

Mad dogs don’t cry,
Or so people say,
They bite at the darkness,
Then wander away.

Nobody asks them,
What happened before,
What made them keep scratching,
At one bolted door.

They once knew affection,
A hand on their head,
A warm little corner,
A blanket, a bed.

Then somebody hurt them,
And trust disappeared,
Love became dangerous,
And kindness was feared.

So mad dogs keep running,
Their eyes full of night,
Snapping at shadows,
Preparing to fight.

But somewhere inside them,
A small puppy stays,
Remembering sunshine,
And happier days.

Perhaps they do cry,
Where nobody sees,
Behind broken buildings,
Beneath lonely trees.

Mad dogs don’t cry,
That’s what people believe,
But even the wildest,
Still secretly grieve.