| I feel the distant stare
|
| Of a watching eye
|
| Watching eyes of THE woodsman
|
| Quivers of death await me here
|
| I’m blind to their illusion — confusion
|
| Fletching of fowl Slips
|
| Through the wind
|
| Releasing their death with
|
| Their fingers
|
| My fate lies on a tensel line
|
| I must escape but there’s
|
| Nowhere to hide
|
| The now exchanging roles
|
| In this theater of ill humor
|
| The understudy steals
|
| The stage with an encore performance
|
| One of the hunted —
|
| The tables have turned
|
| One of the hunted —
|
| There’s nowhere to run
|
| One of the hun ted —
|
| The tables have turned
|
| One of the hunted —
|
| There’s nowhere to run
|
| In the temples of nature
|
| I hear the laughter
|
| Just another victim on
|
| This lonely trail
|
| They show no emotion for
|
| This loss of life
|
| It reminds me of myself not long ago
|
| And the cries for life that
|
| I’d seem to ignore
|
| The cries for life are now
|
| My very own
|
| One of the hunted
|
| The tables have turned
|
| One of the hunted
|
| There’s nowhere to run
|
| One of the hunted
|
| The tables have turned
|
| One of the hunted
|
| There’s nowhere to run |