Following the tracks,
I pick up the scent of everything that attracts hate.
The smell is pungent and bitter, like a rotten apple.
But I’m going hunting; I’m the hunter.

It’s a watershed moment when the villains rouse their cheers.
A paradigm is built from the ruins of fallen heroes.

They sing their songs,
Praising the things they’ve razed with their iron shackles,
Honed with a need to peck the bone.
They scavenge off the sick and mad.

But I’m the hunter, and I’m going hunting.
I follow in shadows,
Watching with purpose.
Should the city cry out,
I’ll bring the game.

Feed a future—
Full of the fruit of the garden.
Wearing snake skin,
I’m alive in the light of enlightenment.
And I’m a hunter, and I’m going hunting.