Fallen Fields

The wind whips frozen needles at my skin

Each breath an icy iron in my chest

The black woods tell me with their chirp and din:

The time has come to end this hunter's test

By day this world is mine to roam and rule

But nightfall means this man is no more king

And campfires must be built against the cruel,

wild tooth and claw, but most of all the sting

of mem'ry red and raw this Texas night:

Of Mother bawling blood beneath these stars;

Of my dear father's body, cold and white;

Of fallen fields and all my soul's old scars