Through The Mill

When I saw you died a death
I was waiting on the moor
I ran to approach the poachers’ nest
To strip them of their epaulet

You really are the reddest beast
I’ve ever seen before
Three hundred pounds wrapped in my cave
We're going to an island

I packed you up with trophy bones
And bridged you on the peak
We stayed to watch the ships come in
And drank to when the chase felt good

I really could not leave him there
They put him through the mill
I wrote back home to tell my friends
The moon, it makes the wine taste sweet