Tradition that’s the wrong word

The insensitive
Those perilous fiends
Joining the hunt
And the vilest scenes
Imaginable
For the vixen who
Hears her mates cries
All down to you

Ignorant evil
Hunter he
As naked and as purposefully
Ride the steed
Whip it’s back
Knee it’s midriff
What you lack

Is hardly tradition
You gruesome fool
Such ugliness deaf to my call
Allowing those hounds
To tear apart
My bestest friend

You broke his heart
and mine
Those hounds they too
Did feel
How wronged they were
Their souls alas
Realising
how unreal

Tradition it was never so
Wild spirits in the ebb and flow
Families locked down in the earth
Cubs accepting we were worth
Saving but tragically
The hunter tribes came after me

Shocked to the core
My mate was gone
Torn to shreds
Out there upon
Our sacred countryside where we
Lived and spent hours
Honestly

Tradition it’s the wrong word, you
Heartless oafs selfishly do
Vile and darkly wanton deeds
Digging out as life recedes
A solemn message I exclaim
You will never be what you claim.