The Trapper

A life, for these trappers
or hunters means nothing
honestly, nothing at all
they themselves imagine
that they have the right
to murder a wild soul
and that is al’right!

just for the bounty
that someone will pay
for the skin
and the victims may suffer
all day

just imagine their thoughts
their family, unaware
although wild one’s
can kind of know
and both share
that bond, so for one
to be trapped in this way
sends out an alarm
to the other I’d say

but the deceitful hunter
that great lover boy
man for all seasons
some jerk could employ
some women might kiss
and some child might call Dad
but really this heartless
despicable cad

is a, soulless infidel
a vile, nasty sort
to set up a trap
knowing flesh will get
caught
wildness is beaten by true agony
and when the hunter comes
then perilously
then frantically
the poor soul will depart
with a boot on its chest
thereby stopping it’s heart

the torture and horror
of death in this way
is really a terribly
shocking display
it lacks understanding
of what pain’s about
for me, its apparent
and I am, in no doubt
that the trapper is evil
he sells his soul
for somebody’s skin
he sets the goal
for a measly sum
to buy fags, possibly
or a glass of cold liquor
that sweet soulful plea
of the wild one was unheard
the hunter’s, a knave
a coward, in iniquity
no one would save

from himself
from his karma
of course it does build
and one day alone
in a cold muddy field
when he drops on his knees
and cries to the sky
as the life force expels
and he has to die
alone in the mud
like so many before
the hunter
the evil
just a bloke from next door