Sunrise behind gray-brown choking clouds.
A wolf wears wool--a three-piece suit.
Hunting with eyes of green and red.
A hunger for money. A thirst for blood.
He licks grinning chops;
A sound from his throat (chuckle or growl?)
He's on his way to meet with the pack
In a towering tree with boughs of steel, leaves of glass,
To sell helium dreams
In exchange for green and red, money and blood.

In the noonday sun, natives bustle in motley packs,
Each one almost an island of boredom and non-concern.
As night begins to fall with neon starlight,
Animals appear; red eyes glowing,
Greasy leering faces and grinding yellow teeth.
Out for another nocturnal hunt.

The rat race is on,
Each day coming closer to the cheesy price at the end;
A satin bed in an ornate wooden box,
High on a hill overlooking the "civilized" jungle.