Don't **** the pheasant
As the cruel core can
keeping dinner all to himself

A hunter, a man, a driven idea
Has not eaten what is in the pan
With no material, a harsh life itself

A fib is spoken aloud from his lips
"I would never shoot that bird"
This bird is my friend, a part of me

Yet her wings make a blur to tasty to look at
without him saying the word
"Shoot" he shouts as I die