Poacher

White tail doe in the back of a chevy

She was stiff and warm and her blood flowed heavy

We dropped her body at the edge of a clearing

And I got wasted in the golden evening

For a sick white man with a perpetual acquittal

Did an awful thing with the lust of a killer

So he cussed the bows and his icicle shelter

And as the wolves began to caw

We could tell that they were dining

For a cool sheet of legal is the law of a hunter

And a ten-cent shell is the spark in the winter

For a trigger-sick sucker with a taste for murder

And a grumble in his gut from a cyclical hunger

For every carnal beast has got his appetite

And the meaner ones travel when the moon is right

And I still jealous of the thrill of flight

That the weaker ones flaunt when the days get bright

And I guess we're looking for a better hollow

Or a backwoods method to return what's borrowed

But when the paper slip, sunken ship, bat shit sorrow

Becomes a supermarket Eden which we start to follow

All the bones of our fathers

Make a nest for our corpses

Beneath the dirt we turn

With which we'd bury our leaders

And the stiff-necked, glory whore American theater

Swallows up the vagrants and the minimum wagers