On the ground
Or in the air
In the clouds
Or in the waves
He looked into the depths
Of these things all the same

He was a hunter
A warrior by birth
With his guns and his knives
And his hand to the Earth

It was in his blood
And he knew it was true
When he did his share of spilling
That blood, in his mind stuck like glue

To the skies and the mountains
The oceans and the trees
His pistol stayed warm
Even as the cold wind began to seize
The bears and the deer and the rabbits
In their tracks through the forest
He felt no regret, nor pain
As he gazed upon the crimson stains