Barren wasteland of crumbs for the scared hungry wolves.
Scavenge for left over remains.
Stomachs growling in pain. So weakly howling.
Once proud, fearless creatures. No more.
I would kill for some food.
(Why don't you?)
But I'm too subdued.
(Aw, well, that's too bad)
Don't you have anything to spare?
(Sorry. Can't help)
Well, that ain't fair.
Leave us. Survival of the fittest isn't fair.
They're taking over.
Those standing beasts.
They've come with their guns.
War for food.
These strange two-legged creatures come bearing metal sticks that breath fire and shout thunder.
We're too weak to carry on.
Run for your lives.
The hills are running with blood.
They're burning down our only homes.
Our cousins turned against their own.
(The machine's taken everything...)
Is this our demise?
Is this how we will be remembered?
Dead dogs who learned nothing but hopelessness?
Reduced to gnawing on the bones of our children.
Have we no shame?
Is this the end?