I am a vulture circling.
My victim's dead as stone.
I've got to descend quickly,
Before his corpse is naught but bone.

I extend my bloodstained talons;
Preparing for the land;
Spread my wings, sink from the sky,
And settle in the sand.

I feel a little sorry,
So I pray before I eat;
Then crane my ugly, naked neck
And dive into the meat.

When I've had my fill of flesh
I launch and glide away.
I survive to eat again,
But can't shake the sadness of the day.

To desecrate what is dead
Surely must be a sin.
But I've only done what I've been taught;
What I've seen done again and again.

So why is my heart so destitute,
Though my stomach's full?
Why does water of life not liven me?
And my sight seem always dull?