Through the broken bough
Streams the long torn sun
Gazing at this scene
The destruction has begun.

For his long lived home,
Has begun to shatter
To house those of evil
His life they will now scatter

However grand his antlers,
However rich his fur,
These creatures know, not of love,
Their lives an honourless blur.

For his herd they care not,
His children slaughtered throats,
Stain the leaves red crimson.
Their liquid spotted coats.

The leaves no longer shine,
The forest knows its doom,
Now lies the broken heart,
The boughs that used to loom.

Through the crushed new leaves of spring,
The stag will meet his fate,
At the hands of the evil one,
His life will have to wait.

Just like those fawns,
He is forced down on his knees,
Spilling crimson blood,
Falling like the trees.