I had a purple paw; dark and injured. It dragged along the road, up the steps on the bus. Kids hit it with their bikes. Strangers commented on it loudly. I don't even know where I was going, but it felt like all I did was walk a circle around the town, allowing everyone to gawk, giving them more opportunities to harass my neglected limb.
I had a purple paw, that was dark not because it was injured, but because God made it that way. There wasn't much to say about it; I tried to ignore it, but the leers kept coming. The audience never faded. I shifted my gait by several degrees, to no avail.
Now everyone knows me. Everyone has something to say.
So I had this purple paw removed, and placed it under glass, and used it as a table. I make fun of it, I taunt it, I let it know how much misery it caused the rest of me.
So this purple paw rests there. It has no where else to go.
I let the years go bye.
It never moved an inch.
I had supper real late one morning, and perhaps had too much else taken in, so I let out that paw and smashed it with a crowbar. Then I got close to the edge, looked back and shot a flame, then jumped into the cliff.
So I set my paw on fire.
