capt.looselip

Primal

Neither Brave nor fearless

The oldest roots of man

The terror and the fury

Guide his shaking hand

No champion roar of triumph

Only desperate howl and shriek

He has not reasoned purpose

But moves crouched upon his feet

His voice is not yet social

He hunts and eats alone

He scrambles with hands outstretched

He has not reasoned stick or stone

Oh what a wretched creature

Oh the things he could yet be

For every primal uncouth feature

Is the man inside of me