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.

The gentle and warm night,
eternity boundary-breaking belt of stars.
Mind most receptive to,
I listened to a beautiful sound.
It was suppose to sound an angel.

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

Now, the bullet air flight may be,
and the goat wound,
it screams in agony
, 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,
time and time again.