The Little Deer - Great Cold Emptiness

A dying fawn laughs

And a new night comes

To each their own, but I

Was led by the fleeting bliss of youth

A hearth lay empty

Cold and flickering

Waiting for a traveler to gather it

Up into his arms

The flight of those once made sacred

A waste of futile existence

Why tend to the flock if they all die anyways?

From the calmest days

Shall you lead an uneasy kayak through the harshest storms

And for you to rest only enrages her more

Who am I to ease my suffering?

To writhe in the snare

To carve marks into the bone

Shall only appease the hunter more

Or does it pity him, that he would starve without you