
“Moonlight” by risk = frisk
Deep through the jungle,
A tiger grumbles,
And rises to their paws,
But to a surprise,
Their jaws are not of a tigers.
Three tails dragging behind,
Counting the falling vine,
The dog looks to find,
What they left behind
In the moonlight.
When the dog found it,
The pin was lighter,
And they were enraged.
If they had found it,
Different and changed,
Why should've they looked for it?