The lion roams with grace throughout his land,
To search for an antelope to feast on.
Alas he's alone, no animals to hunt,
But awaits him, a fresh kill on his cliff.

I guess, thinks the lion
There will be no hunt today
But maybe tomorrow they will come
looking to graze.

The sun beats down as he stretches his limbs,
He trains, to be the fastest there is, but
He runs, he stalks, in small circles only,
As if he is surrounded by walls within.

I guess, thinks the lion
There will be no chase today
But maybe tomorrow they will come
looking to graze.

The lion releases the mighty call of his, louder
With every roar, waiting for a response.
But it's quiet, no sounds; no nothing,
Except the resounding echo of his loud roar.

I guess, thinks the lion
There will be no fun today
But maybe tomorrow they will come,
looking to graze.

The lion drinks from the waterhole, and
Looks across the shallow surface, hinting of a yellow
To find a midnight snack to satisfy his hunger.
But all he sees is his own reflection of a mighty lion,

Alone.

I guess, thinks the lion
There will be no snack today
But maybe tomorrow they will come
looking to graze.

The lion rests, but is roused by the sounds of leopards,
He rises, to find only the stars, so he falls to the dark.
He wakes, surprised, to find a thousand eyes around him,
Yet, there is no animal in sight.

I guess, thinks the lion
There will be no fight today
But maybe tomorrow they will come
looking to graze.

The lion's mane blows through the sky, as his
Fur coat glimmers with every twist and turn.
Pleasant to see, but none are watching
Except for the thousand eyes.

I guess, thinks the lion
There will be no mating today
But maybe tomorrow they will come
looking to graze.

The pool is empty now, filled with layers of
Dying leaves covering what used to be.
So he turns to see another waterhole,
One filled with fresh water heading downstream.

He solemnly walks towards it,
Towards the wild, towards the stream.
Alas it was only a mirage of water,
Of hope and of freedom, only a dream.

His territory is locked by a fence
Too tall to see, so he looks down at his legs,
To find blood dripping, with chains shackled to
His paws, once of Glory and Pride and Might.

And as the lion stares at the chains,
Bruising his paw in attempt to escape,
He looks up to see the thousand eyes,
And the thousand eyes look back,

And laugh.