I'm a sucker,
For the words that could mend the heart,
Of the hunter,
Who sees nothing but love,

Without falter,
Smiling from ear to ear to the others,
To feel better,
Sew wounds that's unhealed and unseen.

He  fears thunder,
With lightning striking fast, to down under,
The skin of the conquered,
Crawling like a pest, ready to infest, how does he rest?

Should we lull him?
To a deep slumber where he'd be better?
Without judgement,
From the eyes of the frail mocking him to hell,

For entertainment,
Mix of despair, saying it's fair-- so they don't care,
Not knowing what they meant;
Such a rare predicament.

Such a sight for an eyesore,
A radiant beam of a coal with a dying core,
He refuse to be dragged further,
To a concrete where nothing would blossom, ever.