Woodland Hunter (Part I)
Cold hunters knife
washed in a silver rain
washed in wings and pierced by those claws that cling
to the throats and hands of death
bold brazen child
who said you could do these things
made from rain and light blowing in from space
now, to kill, and fight, and hide your claim
cold haunted heart
you dream of my warm embrace
all the while carving with all your hate
rage and bile, to turn me cold
but cold is home and I am winter
blinding light and blasting horns
if you want warmth then I am summer
but choose the one you're wanting more
