A slacker and a troublemaker,

Will never go far in this life.

A bullheaded risktaker,

Dies first in all this strife.

To twist and turn,

Without a reason or rhyme.

Is to merely burn,

In the sun scorched sands of time.

None look past what is heard and seen,

To glimpse what is beneath.

A snarling and wild dog-boy with a foolish dream

Cannot be more than bared teeth.

Constant motion,

Unable to keep still.

He does not lack devotion,

Or the ability to kill.

Yet he is scorned by all,

And overlooked when power comes to pass.

For he is sure to fall,

If it were to land within his grasp.

Even a demonic fox,

Is greater than a dog.

The dog is not heard when he talks,

Just another bump on the withered and bloody log.

Canines do not have the smarts,

Or the charisma that a leader needs.

Canines are meant for pulling carts,

And for raking leaves.

Not for a political decision,

Or balancing alliances and treaties.

It is best for them to stay clear from such a mission,

Keeping to their uncivilized duties.

Fangs are for biting,

Drawing blood from uncouth enemies.

Rather than writing,

Something far too out of reach for doggies.

And so a great man is ignored,

In favor of the favored candidate.

Despite all the steps that the Fanged Dog has taken forward.

He will always be a second too late.