Woemen (hunters so called)

There she is posing
her victims around her
foxes and cats
she has ended their lives
oh! she feels happy
this woe person so sick
what was her purpose
that nothing survives
the onslaught
when she aims her rifle
they’ve had it
but why does she do it
what thrill does she get
out of ending the life of
the wild ones and tame ones
our precious foxes
and somebody’s pet

she smiles at the camera
she’s proud of her conquest
what had they done to her
nothing at all
just the thrill of the killing
and the blood she is spilling
one minutes they are running
and then they just fall

twitch for a moment
then what, she gets it
some sexual excitement
a tenseness maybe
a vile nasty woe man
she’s never a woman
no mother would do this
what mother would see

somebody do this
and smile at a camera
it is a sickness
that cuts to the core
she tarnishes everything
the feminine stands for
and each time I look at her
I hate her more

where’s the compassion
the pity the loving
where is the nurturing
where is the care
this is a woe man
that vile in bred traitor
she feels she’s a women
but isn’t aware

how she’s sunk to the depths
she’s not realizing
she kisses the devil
who rampantly sighs
those innocent wild things
are lost now forever
shot down in cold blood
with the wind in her eyes