To hunt
To run
The snow-covered trees,
They're left behind
The powder flies.
The prey, head down!
Nose buried in grass,
Closer, closer, closer/
The wolf, silent,
He comes into view.
The prey, though quick,
He is still doomed.
He runs through trees,
Pursued by the pack,
Closer, closer, closer.
His eyes, they see
His fate drawing near.
They're wide with fear,
He trembles, shakes.
He's surrounded,
The pack encircles,
Closer, closer, closer.

To see the fear is the sweetest thing.
To hear the fear in the bleats is the sweetest thing.
To smell the fear in the air is the sweetest thing.
To taste the fear in the flesh
Is the sweetest of them all.