03-20-2014, 09:21 AM
Trapped like a coursing hare
Twisting on nerves
Hounds in pursuit
Mirroring the swerves
To rip out his bowels, to spill his blood
To end his reign as they should
The crowd bays “It’s an honest days work”
The hounds know they will not shirk
If he makes the thicket
He lives another day,
Will the hounds make it easy?
It’s not their way!
Weaving and rolling, pounding, pushing
Forward he goes
Life flashes past
Will his death be the last?
Deed to this day?
The thicket beckons
Bramble, gorse and broom
Dew on the grass
It can’t come to soon
The well dressed moles
Scuttle through their sheltered burrows,
Oblivious to the pending carnage
“No lines on their furrows”
The crowd yells if blood is spilt
Let's not fault the baying hounds,
For the hare chose this field to fit
On its daily rounds.
The ground drums to the pounding feet
The man rises from his seat
He senses the end
There’s no escape for this fleeting friend
Once revered throughout this land
Like values of old
Too rich to be sold
But now its open season
From politicians and their twisted reason
All for the sake of a little spin
That’s why Joe soap
Is in the ### that he’s in
A Nanny State that drowns the babe on its teat
Then wants it to stand on its own two feet
The family values that it holds so proud
It rips apart in front of the baying crowd
Twisting on nerves
Hounds in pursuit
Mirroring the swerves
To rip out his bowels, to spill his blood
To end his reign as they should
The crowd bays “It’s an honest days work”
The hounds know they will not shirk
If he makes the thicket
He lives another day,
Will the hounds make it easy?
It’s not their way!
Weaving and rolling, pounding, pushing
Forward he goes
Life flashes past
Will his death be the last?
Deed to this day?
The thicket beckons
Bramble, gorse and broom
Dew on the grass
It can’t come to soon
The well dressed moles
Scuttle through their sheltered burrows,
Oblivious to the pending carnage
“No lines on their furrows”
The crowd yells if blood is spilt
Let's not fault the baying hounds,
For the hare chose this field to fit
On its daily rounds.
The ground drums to the pounding feet
The man rises from his seat
He senses the end
There’s no escape for this fleeting friend
Once revered throughout this land
Like values of old
Too rich to be sold
But now its open season
From politicians and their twisted reason
All for the sake of a little spin
That’s why Joe soap
Is in the ### that he’s in
A Nanny State that drowns the babe on its teat
Then wants it to stand on its own two feet
The family values that it holds so proud
It rips apart in front of the baying crowd