Tekster: Greg Brown. The Last Shepherd.

Men worked all day to sell me death
And chain me to their time
So I took a sheep and began to climb
To my own heart and breath

This must be the last good place
The smoke can't rise so high
I might be content to die
Wearing a weathered face

The song of the hills will break someday
For the laugh of a businessman
And the mad dogs will catch me if they can
When my sheep are gone away