There’s a picture of the Metro Goldwyn Mayer lion
Pinioned and strapped to a table –
Its head is set in a frame inscribed ‘MGM Trade Mark’
It roars to serve a Hollywood fable.
It roars to further the reach of the American Empire.
It’s the Land of the Free’s sad captive
And it’s being abused to serve the Empire’s soft power
Whose magic in close-up isn’t attractive.
There are only twenty thousand lions left alive
Throughout the entire African continent.
Rich American trophy hunters pay to shoot them
Then film themselves looking triumphant.
But when nature’s wildness is anaesthetized
And when its stars are decapitated for sport
Then the transmigration of souls may dictate
That man’s most bestial dragons run riot.
Innocent skies now hide diabolical drones
Randomly targeting those below –
Incinerating them with thermobaric bombs
To snuff out life’s luminous glow.
If there are no more wild Kings of the Jungle,
If mechanized man is now the great ‘I am’ –
True visions of peace and paradise will evaporate
There being no lion to lie down with the lamb.