Lion you are,
All dressed in
sheep's garbs
fooling no one
but your own,
Mirror, mirror,
In woolen comb
a bleating roar
Trying to blend
when you were
made to hunt -
as the pride is
out waiting for
It's Tsar, to rule.

on our tippy toes
and trippy kush
where in tarnation
are you, my dear?
it's lit as blue blazes
over here
don't let the power
burn you up
don't you think
down and out
should be enough

What is your call to arms?
Are you the warrior waiting at the gate-
Ready and willing to fight the battle
You'll continue through Valhalla?

Or perhaps you are the kitten-
Looking up in wonder; curious-
So you claw your way up denim towers
And roar upon shoulders for milk?

Whatever your case, maybe lost in the crowd-
One without a face,
You feel all your work is gone in one bad day
Without a trace-

So you lie there in bed with the voices in your head
Screaming over and over again that you're wrong-
That you're just like the others who will never be strong-
Crooning your swan song, begging you to sing along...

You cry.
You fight.
You scream right back and tell them you are right-
You are unique and not with the throng-
Rise on up; the day is yours and long.

I am the silence before the lightning.
The roll of thunder before the rain,
and the calm before the hurricane.
I am the cry of an wolf,
and the roar of a lion.

I will not be shaken.