A fox among the so-called lions, I'll scatter your bones, lead you astray, drown your cubs in the river. I can navigate the complex maze of the forest, cat eyes and puppy feet, shark teeth, can't catch me when I don't want to be caught. Night-eyes, a perfect science, illuminated street-lamps make strange halos on the wet-brick pavement and cold-stone steps of the city morgue and mortuary we visit. Pint-sized, cunning as a serpent and wise as an old combat dog, everything is brand new, digital and flashing with fancy lights and cameras, I'll dart across and back again, play with the censors, it's like a game, I like games, trigger alarms to the point of madness before the real robbery, police stand around like a pack of hungry hyenas, I sashay right next to them, couldn't be me.
My den glows like emeralds and an ancient red ruby fit for a queen's crown, bright and shining, gold in barrels, rings, necklaces and precious jewels, all stolen, all mine, I like the way they dazzle, play tricks on the eyes, a soothing silvering sundown of soft light blankets the real treasure, a sleepy sad face, strikingly beautiful and glimmering and sparkling like freshly stolen cranberry diamonds.