Standard (EADGBE)
the
hollow light
is still on the
fields
where the winter has
warmed
and the snows have
drained waway
and
the hunters cry
is still on the
air
as the bullet flies
home
but the heart thats
pierced with it
still is
racing
still is
racing,
alone.
the silver shoals
of the light in the deep
brush the glitterin skein
where the great, dark body writhes
and the trembling jaw
the unfathoming sounds
of leviathan, bound
as his heart, though weakening
still is racing
still is racing, alone
you are racing
you are racing,
alone.