Over the lands of rolling thunder
with the horizon glimmering past the cages dawn,
Fred, Roger, and Dave eat their breakfast,
and I eat my ice cream cone,
free from the oppressive bars
that separate the burden and life,
free from the growing sentiments of discontent
and dwindling waters.
I am the fourth guinea pig who finds the day,
who shuffles around and drinks a coffee drink.
Who uses my freedom to check on the others.
I am the fourth guinea pig.
I am the fourth guinea pig.
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