What is a man but a wild beast?

Just a heavy skull with a wide crack in front

Tarnished yellow by misfortunate weather

And the jaw bone surely missing

So a forked tongue hangs limp

Pallid and certainly wet with saliva

Quite reflective of sunlight

Yes, from the tongues of other beasts it is so

If there is one thing a beast must do before he dies

Then he must fight a foe much larger than he

With the ultimate clash of thick yellow skulls

The beast's warm blood is suddenly drunk down

To bubble and churn in the stomach of another

Would someone small journey to rescue a jaw bone?

For he could not bare to witness such destruction

So he would cross an endless desert, then to the oceans end

How frustrated failure must have beset him

Dumb beasts with their tongues

So thirstily they move in the wind and fog

You could curse them, but they curse themselves

What is a beast without the nature of one?

Ah yes, clearly visible are a row of gnarly teeth

The stench of flesh rolling off its tongue

And the stench of blood in its primitive nostrils

Those teeth make one disregard an insignificant missing jaw

It shakes violently and is consumed in fire

Such a deep, potent emotion erupts inside it

And the days soon pass, and it awakens all beasts

What becomes of this, is the gravest off all serious matters

For both the beasts who submit, and those who dominate

They all shall storm helplessly into the depths of time

A clumsily moving mass of stringy muscle and skin

The beast is doomed to be a spectacle to men

It is a wonder it never bites off its own tongue