The montana grass is long and swaying
Me and my father had walked long to find blood tracks
And I stare at the grey blue sky growing cold
In a few yards we will find a fattened doe, laying
Her eyes were glass and fragile
Blood dripped from her black and pale pink lips
Her thin limbs were long and now still
To think that I killed something so agile
I feel a rush of adrenaline, but in my feelings there is no guilt
My father stuffs her mouth with grass and I laugh
He yells at me for laughing but what else shall I do?
I do not laugh when her guts are spilt
On a night, in three years, I will think
I think of the doe, laying in the grass
and tears come to my eyes seeing her beauty
To know she died in just a blink
I wish for the doe to be fat on montana grass
and for the harsh winter to never come
and that she lays in warm summer and bleats
And I hope that day shall never pass