Fading. My great kingdoms of jungle, tropics, snow and plain.
Encroached upon they have been, by lesser beings; dull and cold, But their regality is false, all material and painted gold.
What right have they? The true monarch am I.
I did not craft, this amber coat these ebony stripes this sheen of white, Perhaps in naming me jungle King these invaders would show their intellect's might?
But no; yellow-brown cowards in gangs. The savannah cats are crowned the rulers.
When did their kind dare venture into my forests or brave the northern snow? Pretenders with their flowing manes, all for show.
It appears respect has no place on two legs. Room, just enough for arrogance and grand delusions it seems.
They believe they are great because they ruin and destroy, What glory is there in using the earth as a toy?
The saw, the sword, the axe and the dozer. Brilliant are they? No. Just more thievery from the whom of this world.
My tools are not of burned metal and broken wood; they are raw and pure and divine. How they long for my fangs, my claws, my pelt; human swine.
I am dying with my vast empire, now a crumbling state,
Gone is the reverence, the worship; replaced with hate.
A nuisance am I? A mere pest? In their eyes maybe,
Diminished, I'll admit, helpless without allies to aid me.
The Great King I once was, could not be ignored.
But gone are the days when the tigers roared.