Wounded deer

Man could be a nice campfire,
it has a nice ears.
They will bear with me,
and stop to hear
the sounds of silence.

Gentle, as well as the warm night,
eternity boundary-breaking star belt.
Ears against the scales of
I listened to the sound beautiful.
I think it was the angel of the sound.

Eyes deer so
covered in tears,
when the hunter's eyes
to look at, it has to
last moments.

Now, high-speed aircraft in flight may be,
and the wounded deer,
it cries out in pain
the soul of the deer
it is the journey of the angels.

Like a kid of the goats gallop
I visit. Not hunters appear,
is a bullet in my heart it
last hunting.
I continue my life,
and a bullet to torture,
it makes the pain to return,
over and over again.