LION

PT1

Come and spit your words straight at me.

Critique the flesh right off me.

Skin melting, blood dripping to the floor.

Look at the mess, head for the door.

Caution don’t slip on it, the floor’s slick.

Listen for short, can you hear the clock tick?

That’s right I’m rising, my time’s approaching.

The time to eat your words is encroaching.

Different, so I stand out of the crowd.

Didn’t like it in there, it got too loud.

People, edgy at the sight of a defiant,

The sheep always afraid of a lion.

They feel safety within their herd.

Where their own voice isn’t heard.

Then they hear me come around, roar.

I don’t fit in, not what they wished for.

Still young, naïve, just a small cub.

Last chance, make him dress up.

Convince him he is part of the sheep.

Let’s put those ambitions to sleep.

Guide him to make him fit the mold.

Integrate lies to let the formula hold.

Distress, seep into his thinking, harmless.

Until it hardens, to brittle to hold stress.

Seeking ambiguity and comfort, the Sheep.

Peaceful continuity, his individuality asleep.

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