Imperative movements aid the predator's success
It is a Race of Arms
Just as Gods own intent,

Eventually, I'll leave this world in peace I concur
And I will lay in snakeskin
Whilst adorned with fur.

We were fooled by an extrovert's own impropriety
You may call it a lost cause
I call it society.

…

You may call it fantasy
Yet I shamed it with piety