When the Eagle takes her throne at the forest table,
that’s when you know it’s meal time.
She’s the one who chooses which part we must eat.
Whose part we must pick on.
A nose?
A wing?
Your head?
So take your seat.
Knife and fork.
That pork was my friend you know.
But you gotta chew the fat.
Look down, make no noise, hold perfect poise.
Hope and pray today might be the end.
Be afraid.
She feeds on fear.
Be a threat, and it’s your life to let.
Say goodbye to those salad days.
No longer friends, now we’re prey
No justice with her tenacious sentencing
No escape from her injurious beak.
It could be you, It could be me.
After all she’s already scratched us weak.
Be warned,
because there are snakes in the grass,
willing to eat the rats
to defend themselves against her grasp.
She’ll decide who you get to be, at the table,
a falcon or a bunny,
Spinning her wheel to define whether it’s you turn or chance to flee.
Be careful.
Catch her eye and you’ll turn stone cold dead
And then it’s your sliced head she’ll clean cut next,
prepped on a platter, served by snakes.
There is no defence against this apex.
We just gotta wait till our date.
When meal time is over.