I'm trippin' on these canine rations. . .
Gotta stick 'em in their destination.
As I tour my blighted land, no fruit-based yard waste do I span.
And each drop's indiscreetly planned. Gotta poke it—won't dung-brand my hand.
Boneward hound,
I wish he weren't
A
Boneward hound.
Bones, and there's no escaping,
Bones, everywhere they're laying,
Bones, there's calcification piling up on me.

Every bay's an endless scream. He masticates in between keens.
Yes, this hound is a bane to me; his mood is too refractory.
He'll never straighten out, I see; repining's the wrong strategy.
A
Boneward hound.
Cur can't be cured,
A
Boneward hound,
Bones, and there's no escaping,
Bones, everywhere they're laying,
Bones, there's calcification piling up on me.

Tonight I'll lay my traps again,
I'll splay the jaws that unbend.
I step on turds as I back free; I have made an ossuary*
It's empty now but soon will be a catacombed cornucopi-
A
Boneward hound,
Covered with dirt,
Boneyard bound.
Bones, there'll be no more scrapin',
Bones, in one place they're laying.
Bones, where I'm now awaitin' signs of new grass seed,
Growing silently.