There’s a black streak caged within our soul, He hurdles his wrath on trembling bars for people killed on eyeless days and accidental dying in the dark. Submit! The captors call, Let’s remake the world! Our passion clamor deep within, though they peel our hearts with jack boots, guns and clubs, somehow we survive. A voice cries endlessly within our soul refusing to be consoled, a twisted tin shack grating in the wind in a shrill sad protest. A panther rages within our soul, better is to die than for us to lie down.