Lost in the fog, tripping through words
I stumble upon sight of a flying bird,
but he’s not really flying, he’s lost too.
Poor thing belongs in a zoo more than I do.

That’s hard to say, considering my giant jaw.
Considering the laws against my sharpened paws,
But I clawed my way out and I’m not going back,
Either way, I’m running; now let's get back on track.