Dogs, Distance and Despair

Cwn Annwn, the White Dog of the Underworld, stands guard over the gates to the afterlife and hunts the lands for souls in need of guidance, or so the rumor goes. One of the Celtic Animals collection, available on many gift and collectible items.

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So there we were, marching along, down life's strange highway
Mud pack and gravel beneath scarred boot and twisted heel.
Nobody said it would be easy, and they were certainly right.
Biddlesby, complainer on behalf of us all, complained vociferously
At every step along the way - his boots hurt his feet - His feet hurt his legs -
His legs ached - The food was cold - There wasn't enough food on his plate -
Someone at the back shouted forward, "Stuff a sock in it!"
"My socks are wet!" Biddlesby grumbled back,
and on we went, hour in hour out, with Biddlesby chanting out our plight.

"Where are we going?" a young scruffy-haired youth to my left wanted to know.
His companion just shrugged; he had no more clue than the rest of us,
But in rhythm we marched, lockstep lockstep lockstep
Until the sheer cadence drove some mad.
Left right left right yer-left yer-right and full of spite,
and on we went, day in day out, with Biddlesby chanting out our plight.

"What are we doing?" one young lad moaned, as the man behind him pushed him forward.
We turned our collective heads and stared at him in disbelief.
"This is what we do!" a grizzled man near the front barked back.
This is what we do.
We march on, up down uphill downhill, left right left right yer-left yer-right and full of spite
and on we went, year in year out, with Biddlesby chanting out our plight.

A boy joined us one winter, ragtag confused, hardly dressed for the task.
"Who are you people and what are you doing!?" the poor boy whined as on we marched.
We formed ranks around him as we marched along and took a bit of time to get him prepared
Still on we marched, day night dayin dayout uphill downhill, left right yer-left yer-right and full of spite
and on we went, life in life out, with Biddlesby chanting out our plight.

We paused.
All were confused.
The place was gone or was it ever there?
We stopped.
Biddlesby fretted at the top of his lungs
"Aren't we EVER gonna get DONE!? I was supposed to RETIRE at age 62!"

Then back we turned and back we marched
Life death lifetimes deathtimes day night up down uphill downhill left right yer-left yer-right and full of spite
and on we went, life in life out, with Biddlesby chanting out our plight.