A low click of the metal door behind me,
Screams of the engine undernieth.
These are things that define me.
Deer in the cross hairs,
Many hills away,
Slow breath in and out,
As I squeeze of a smooth shot.
The soft mat under my feet,
The leather gloves glued to my hands,
Eyes conect for only a instant,
The blood will soon flow as an open river.
The roar of a lion pertrudes from the pipes,
Twin tires of fury shred through streets,
Low grubles as it comes to a stop,
Rock and Roll blasting as we speed to the ...