Crocodile tears mean nothing to the one

With alligator eyes, toes buried in the mud.

With deepest dreams of sweetest screams,

Scales steaming in the Sun,

Waiting all day, he craves the hunt.

His history is scribbled in a dribble of blood,

Spread thick across his lips

And on the tip

Of his alligator tongue.

Cry, if you like. You can even try to fight,

But you had better not run…

Because mortal fear means nothing to the one

With alligator eyes, toes buried in the mud.

But by the shining of the silver Moon,

He’s torn in two.

Stuck between the river he rules,

And the love he knew… 

But the feeling passes over him,

Like a cormorant’s fleeting shadow…

Never truly free of his supernatural hunger.

But alligator tears mean nothing to the sons

Of man, that land in the backwoods brush

They search the swamp, they spear, they drop

 Their nets, and still, he never gets caught.

Because crocodile tears mean nothing to the one

With alligator eyes, teeth buried in their bones.