If I were to write a letter
It'd be to the lowest of Jungle -
The **** of the world.

To those who find it difficult living outside
Of the shells they use to keep the world away

I'd use my dying breath to whisper warnings

"Trouble is on the loose!"

My darlings, the world is dark.
The hunter, the hunted and the haunted
Are on a murderous rage!
There's no peace in the land of the living
For those with a conscience!

I'd tell them to wear their shells tighter,
To hold on the silence of the woods
And heighten their defences

If I were to write a letter,
It'd be to myself.

"The shell is a cage", I'd warn
The vultures too will die
The wolf will one day feed the ground

Yes! The gazelle is killed
The meerkat lives in retreat
And all that does not eat is eaten,
But they shall have lived  

They shall have lived!
They shall have felt the rush of being alive
They shall only die once

In My Younger And More Noble Days
When Children Were Told Tales
Of Monsters Under Their Beds
And Men Slaying Dragons

A Young Angel Visited Me
“You Must Be The Purest Thing I've Seen”, I said

“Oh, Child!”, she sighed
“Purity Is Found In The Eyes Of He Who Seeks To Find It. I'm Neither Pure nor Evil. I'm What Your Fears And Beliefs Tell You I Am”

When She Was Perfect
Sinless And Humble
I Found No Toe-Hold
By Which I Could
Cling onto Eve.

But When She Was
Tempted By Her Flesh
Humbled By Her Sin,
And Redeemed By Her God

I Could Shout,
“O Sister Eve, Can We Have A Dance?”