Hunting Machine - Fictional

Rows and rows of teeth

As sharp as a razor blade

Laying by the river bank

Waiting for his prey

Along comes his prey

With no sense of fear

The hunter takes his chance

And bites off his ear

He’s the hunting machine

King of his land

He takes opportunities

That falls in his hand

He’s the hunting machine

An ancient dinosaur

One thing you don’t want

Sitting by your door

As night turns to day

He lays in the baking sun

Building up his energy

And thinking about his tum

A sorry soul comes along

As blind as night can be

Has no chance to take a breath

And the hunter has his tea