Creatures of the Night

Oh Moth, Sad Moth

Butterfly of the Nighttime Sky,

Who do betroth you

Not to fly so high?

It is he who do

He, brand in hand,

None other than he,

None other than Man.

How gentle and soft

Is the cricket’s beat

As it sits and sings upon the mound

Wait—Who dares to impede you

With their strident sounds?

Why, It is he who dares,

He, sorrow in eyes

None other than he

Who so often plots his own demise.

It is he who dare

He, revolver in hand.

None other than he,

None other than Man.

Creatures of the Night,

Day in and day out

The sands of time so obliviously flow

For he, who doesn’t know the route

Nor the path of destruction in which he goes.

Oh Mighty, Almighty Cougar of the Night

Let out a cry so powerful

It will send a fright

A fright causing all creatures of the night

To rise to the occasion

A fright of persuasion.

Send a shiver down the spine

Of he watches from afar

Who is he,

He who never seems

To be up to par?

It is he who dare

He, pistol in hand.

None other than he,

None other than Man.