Little pink unicorns prancing through the land,
Over hills, in woods, untouched by virgin hands.
Dancing through the streets, unseen by human eyes.
Bright horn on your head, yet no need for disguise.

Small pink unicorn leaving marks on the ground,
Hoof prints dug there: do you want them to be found?
Gore covers your horn but we don't see who bled.
Did your horn pierce their side, a spear painted red?

Dirty pink unicorn, hearing humans cry,
Do you wish, even now, that we'd heard you sigh?
Do you marvel at the beauty we can't see?
Little pink unicorn, do you still see me?

Oh, little unicorn, all we have is tears!
Our eyes are blind and truths buried in old fears;
But still we sometimes hope you are really there,
The invisible pink unicorn who cares.

- Josh MacLeod, 2001