The Painter tires of his daffodil
The Writer’s embarrassed for his timid quill
They yearn for a primeval thrill

They want to be the lion on prowl
To utter a guttural growl
To hear calf’s final howl

They yearn for deadly hunt
To chase the prey in front
Not just perform fictional stunt

Nor go to a zoo and gawk
But stalk like a fearsome hawk
And deliver the final shock

Art’s oft served on a nobler plane
But below this surface lies insane
There’s a wanton lust in pain

Thank god, civilization holds us in check
Many would risk their neck
Their lives would be a total wreck