Sitting in a hall way,
In a concrete jungle.

Sitting in the warm yellow light,
Looking out to the cold dark that envelopes the world.

Watching the rain pound, pound, pound down,
Hearing the drops hit the puddles as they grow deeper, and deeper down.

Shivering in the October air,
But refusing to zip up my calf skin jacket.

Thinking back to the days when man wore fur,
And hunted big game in the middle of a frigid winter.

Shamefully thinking of how well domesticated we all are,
Bred to scurry across the Earth in fear.

Resulting into the classic cliche of survival of the fittest,
Lying, stealing, killing, keeping the status quo.

The rain pounds harder, making my bones stiff,
I'm hiding away, I'm low on the food chain.

But what if I changed the game, transform into a big game hunter,
And not through violence, but through love.

Look out for the human race, be the chief, the pack leader,
Be relieved of the boredom that derives from existing.

Why wait for somebody else to step up,
When my time is slipping away like the rainwater dripping off a tree.