“To Be Hunted”,
I am driving somewhere in a borrowed car,
On an old, abandoned road, better off alone.
Like somebody drinking scotch at a bar,
Waiting for the liquid to burn his throat.
But the man follows me upon the trail,
Like a memory I cannot forget.
I try to shake and lose his tail,
But his tank is full and his sights are set.
The trees and snow overwhelm my sight,
And I cannot see much in front of me;
When something runs into and breaks my headlight,
Causing me to run the car into a tree.
He walks out of his car with his .9.
In his eyes I frantically search for some sign
Of mercy; but finding none, I completely resign.
Dead.