Our good has been tossed,
And reason shot in the head.
Our whys wander lost,
And our wherefores drop dead.

In a world where hungers that're swallowed by night
Make greyscale photos that are blacker than white,
While well-fed beholders use their eyes to feign pity,
And their ears to create songbirds in the heart of a city.

Steeped in the sounds that make us blind to the sight
Of the stripes that hide in our greens no more,
And dazed by the sights that plug us too tight
From the deafening purr that we once called a roar.

Will it take a heaven moved lightyears south
And an earth moved lightyears southward still
To write the story of a way carved out
By that single solitary proverbial will.

For stronger wind over greener grass
On lower vale of higher hill
Under whiter cloud in bluer sky
Preparing the tiger for an easier kill.