The leaf that fell, It broke the spell Of Silence in summer's wake A chill comes with dusk, Set fire to brush To keep the heat the night takes The owl he knows, along with the crows The end is coming soon But first comes the night, When darkness is light With sight of the Hunter's moon Alone a man stands, A bow in his hands A memory of warmth in his heart The wind stings his eyes, As he looks to the sky And loses himself in the dark He thinks of the life, The beauty the strife The sacrifice he must make The bow weighs him low, for in him he knows Tonight a life he must take In the valley below, where sycamores grow A hoof breaks a twig on the ground His horns to the sky, hypnotized by the light Unaware of his own fatal sound With sight of the game, the hunter takes aim Behind, his shadow looms The buck is struck, with unfortunate luck While gazing at the Hunter's moon A hush on the land, with blood on his hands A chill returns to the air His face cannot hide, what boils deep inside Disdain for the absence of fair Though he is shaken, a comfort is taken In a though he believes to be true: For a last glimpse on earth, there could be far worse Than the light of the Hunter's Moon