To live, to die, to even try,
To know your friend from foe.
In day, or night, in constant flight,
With no place left to go.

No give, no take, no lucky break,
The hounds of fate then show.
From dusk to dawn, they carry on,
A hunted you do go.

Be slow or quick, there is no trick,
Your moves the hunters know.
It is no race, they set the pace,
A weary you do grow.

No rest, no peace, and no surcease,
Your breast your heart doth throw.
Amidst the dun you're on the run,
Ahead, a dreadful row.

To stop, to plan, to make your stand,
To pay that which you owe.
You turn and face your destiny,
To await the final blow.

"Hello up there," comes words from air,
"There's something you should know."
"You need some things," the poet sings,
"These thoughts I would bestow."

"To flee or wait, you seal your fate,
The sand of life doth flow.
But when you die, your soul will fly,
To where no flesh can go."

Your need, now freed, has found you treed,
The hounds dance down below.
So laugh or cry, your time is night,
The hunt has brought you low.