Sitting on a broken dream
And memories are what might have been
Biscuit crumbs and bird seed in his
Whiskers, whiskers, whiskers
Even though he never went to war
He still felt something worth fighting for
But no one else ever cared as much as
Whiskers, whiskers, whiskers
Whiskers, whiskers, whiskers
He sits in the moonlight
on top of the hill
Playing a penny whistle
and picking thistles out of his kilt
He rubs his paws together
and it begins to snow
As he counts up all the Christmas lights
in the village down below
He sits around the campfire
and licks at his wounds
Staring sadly back at his reflection
in a spoon
We used to want the same things
when we were growing up
But somewhere along the way
I started hoping for too much
I found his little plastic shield
Chewed up on the battlefield
And I knew then I'd never make a friend again like
Whiskers, whiskers, whiskers
Whiskers, whiskers, whiskers
Whiskers, whiskers, whiskers
Whiskers, whiskers, whiskers