Sarke Primitive Killing
The moon is leading my path
In my hand a knife of bone
In the other a rope
For strangulation, to end it
Prey in sight
Blood will be shed this night
A moment unprepared
A spear through the neck
Falling to the freezing ground
Shivering, cold, dead
Instinct of the living
Primal hunting
Death is life
Primitive killing