I wake up to the cold blast of the morning,
The shivering wind has me mourning.
Sounds of shrieks ring out like ghosts,
The gust that howls scares the host.
Screaming ghouls rattle the night
But now the day break is quite right.
The haunting from the distance fades
And the thing under a shadow lies in shade.
The cold sounds of the morning
Sharp and refined, glow ablaze,
Crescendoing until eternity, knowing
It leaves all listeners in a haze.
The frozen hand on your shoulder
Without an introduction sighs
To rouse a scream much colder
And look the victim in the eyes.
A battered animal that limps dearly
Coming towards the barn is shot
The sign says "No Trespassing", clearly
No exceptions can be bought.
A little girl runs out to hold
The crippled beast in death.
Grasping to dear life is bold
To the very last breath.
Macbeth watches with bleeding hands
That wont wash off with water.
No matter how hard you stand
You can never cleanse the slaughter.
A nun stands with her back against
The crippled moon that fades
She's waiting for the sun she sensed
To take away the shades.
The ghost from Napoleon's nightmares
Is creeping now through darkness.
But suffering that's heard through prayers
Is impossible to bless.
The sun seems to be trying
To rise through many clouds
Like the crippled monster dying
Within the ignoring crowd.
Everyone seems to tremble
At the sight of dying beasts.
But why be scared? They resemble
Us from head to feet.
I sit here in the damp, cold weather
Looking out the window at unfettered feathers.
The beast is still breathing, moving,living
I think I know why it was a failed killing.
It must be true, then, those wise words
That now speak through immortal birds.
To kill a beast itself, its said,
You must first become one in yourself.
