Hunting Season

it is the season, the season of hunting
i’ve got a target on my back
I’m getting ready, getting my guns out
cause i’m the one who will attack
i’ve got a sharp shot, i’ve got a keen eye
i’m gonna take you down this time
but i am a slow beast, wounded already
alone in the meadow of my mind
 
i’m hunting myself now
i’m putting myself down
running away from my own gun
i’m open fire here
there’s no getting away dear
hunting myself, there’s nowhere to run
 
four in the am, still wide awake and
letting the tape spin in my head
what if i lose her all over again
what if the cancer kills him dead
why can’t i fix it, why can’t i forget
why am i scared and sad and stunned
the night is a vast sea, the water is glassy
and i am a pacing, sitting duck