None of that matters for it will be hunting season soon
Full of buckshots, scoped boom sticks, and snares
Like a wedding Saturday in the month of June
It will soon be over then, fret not much over the relegation
For you have outlived your dreams, and dreams have to end at dawn
You will make a nice head piece, a lovely coat of feels, glue maybe
Like so many others that have traversed this life's lawn
So rabbit, hop over each mound like your instincts compell
Find the green on the other side due your own insecurities
You will cut, you will bleed, at worse get your leg broken
Like a mortal rummaging through life's utter uncertainties
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