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Tonight we're vultures, birds of prey,
dogs with rabies on the stray.
Hunting for an easy meal,
searching for someone to kneel.
A hungry glint in our predatory eyes.
Our brains adept at making up lies
because we know that truth is a sin.
Say anything to get our teeth on the skin.
Always the same sordid plan on our minds:
to feast, and then leave the carcass behind.
Our trade's akin to witchcraft and sleight,
we look our best under the cover of night.
It's not our fault, it's just the way that we're made,
our tongues weren't made to sing serenades.
Our nimble hands are Lucifer's toys,
We're animals with human-like poise.
Copyright © Roman Atkin