There’s a black dog on my shoulder again
Licking my neck and saying she’s my friend
Solitude the one thing that I really miss
Guess my life is a compromise

There’s a black dog on my shoulder again
I’m playing with it but it’s gone to my head
Like Carlito’s way there are no exit signs

Manic Street Preachers: Black Dog on My Shoulder

The Black Dog moved in with us a while ago, and is slowly, steadily making itself at home.

I spend most my evenings doing my best to chase it out of the house, but it seems there’s a flap or hole or something that I’ve been unable to plug so far; it all too easily finds its way back in. I’m thinking of buying a dog basket…

Surprisingly enough, this doesn’t bother me too much. What gets me down is that the darned thang has started following me to work

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