The Tiger

by Duncan Jones

A jungle guide was asked one time
By the plane tickets off the bus
“The night is hot, yet the fires are high
So tell us, what's the fuss?"

The guide just smiled as she always did
And looked into the night
Then stepping toward the fire
"You know, the tiger doesn't fight ...

For the tiger knows he can't be seen
So with bright orange he boasts
In the shining green of the daylight grass
And he still becomes a ghost

The tiger knows he can't be heard
So with his size he proves it
Onto the branch he leaves the grass
And he never even moves it

The tiger knows he can't be fought
So calm he strolls, no roar
There are no cries when he comes in the night
One simply is ... no more

He's in the trees, he's in the breeze
He's behind you as we speak
We are far from home here and we are alone here
And he always finds the weak

So this tour will have our fires high
And we for sure shall make a fuss
And while I can't promise you will see him
I can promise you he will see us"