PREDATOR

No, there's no dreams and daydreams
about us. 
In the way this hints at me; 
The lack of words, it's a bit reassuring.

The voice, that is as vague as ever
tells me- what follows will hold the answer.
God, it is unsettling, the anticipation. 

Yet, what follows is a sweet, sweet poison;
A dark delight, a grey gratification. 

Guilty, should it have been.
This is a slip down the trip.
And there's no dreams and daydreams, really.

Resistance so weak, the fish in my seagull's beak.
Quite crystal in the clock; else, an inarticulate need.  

Try to sneak in through the curtain,
for the texture and the meat. 
Or shall we invade the back door 
and celebrate our feat!  

A "state of trance" for the prey
And the predator's the devil as they'd say.
I'd vary for my verdict on the judgement day.

'Cause our predator, is an endangered one.
Fears.... shadowing every move for the gun.

And in the minute I don't much care
There's been a rising fog in that air.
Now the quest is for the question itself
May be there are dreams and daydreams, somewhere.