Les Triplettes de Bellville

A dog is the closest thing to me.
When it whimpers in its sleep,
it's having dreams,
sitting atop a moving train.
It grunts while roughhousing,
chasing the hand that teases him.
I will get you;
I want more.
When I'm tired I'll bury
my empire under the dirt.
It'll starve with you
but does not know to share.
It'll follow you, in midnight footsteps:
Here we can rest.
But it does not understand.
What else is there?
(That you won't lay your bones to rest.)
And he'll be loyal
when he goes into search for you.
We call it love,
but you hold on to his plaything.
I am the dog that'll follow you around.
Always restless and searching,
then forgetting.