Slave Ape
When the rising moon calls to his soul he cannot answer, he cannot follow Her shadow’s path weaving through the magic of twilit trees as She glides so lightly through the sky, perhaps he catches a glimpse of Her against the smog and city pollution through a dirty window as Night slowly creeps by He is trapped in this cage until his keeper comes tomorrow, when he is wheeled out for his part in the show, degraded to being dressed as a human and playing drums, and the idiot crowd laughs and thinks this is good, and that this is fun He cannot express his urge to swing or call, and instead of tree bark he has cold steel, he cannot feel the gentle breeze rocking him to sleep in a branch, just the city’s noisy stories makes up the sadness of his real His very nature eats away at him, because you cannot trap the wind as it dances thro...