Oh Gods, how boring is to live a predator

amongst the fields of meekly, fluffy sheep.

Although, my nature fears the dictator,

The future here is greyish, simple bleep.

It calls for things beyond and long forgotten,

Demands adventure for any forking cost.

But this tranquillity and purity…It’s rotten,

Why should I do the things that I hate most?

Thus, I rebel in only way I can allow myself to do so,

Behind disguise, with words and callous rhymes.

But I still shake from wishing to have much more,

Then empty promises of unbound, careless flight.