The Hunter's Trophy Bawl

Hey I am inviting you all to a big party.
The Hunter's Trophy Bawl.
A big celebration to show off their new manhood.
Walls covered with newly decapitated heads.
"Trophies" of their shame.
Remnants of their gutless efforts to be men.

Now to start things off right, 
We need music.
Today who else but the ????????
"BUCKSHOTS"

Hit it fellas!!!

Come on everyone lets shake them some rears.
Right foot, left foot.
"Shake your bounty-shake, shake, shake!
Shake your bounty-shake, shake, shake!"
And what is music with out the song............keep moving it everyone!!!

HEY NOW, HEY HOW?
CAN THEY BE SO MEAN?
CAUSE THEY HAVE NO HEARTS
IT MAKES THEIR EGOES KEEN.

HEY NOW, HEY HOW?
IT'S HEAD TROPIES TIME?
THESE MEN CAN SHOOT A GUN
AND IT'S KILLING CRIME.

HEY NOW, HEY HOW?
DO YOU MOUNT THE  HEAD?
AND THE EYES ARE GLASS
BUT THEY STILL LOOK DEAD.

HEY NOW, HEY HOW?
WHO, WHAT, WHEN AND WHERE.
IT IS TIME TO TALK
AND I'M A GONNA TO GO THERE!

Hey now
Hey how............

Hey that was great, you really worked it out.
Sit down. Take a rest.

I have been doing some perplexing reflecting.
In my spare ticky-tock time.
Been thinkin about you huntin men.
Especially you men of the "decapitated animal head fame."
Yeah, you over there, under the moose head.
Got some questions for ya all.
I wanna go to that "we don't ever talk about it zone."
The place where you reinvent your murders.
Like what is with those glass eyes in those heads you got hangin all around?
Where's their real eyes?
Where's their eyes?
Gotta an answer big man with a gun???
Can't leave the real eyes there can you?
Letting them ooze, crack, rot and then dry.
They would look dead, the head would be morbid.
Even you would have known you had killed.
The horror and pain you created would stare back at you.
Reflecting your own fetid soul.
THE EYES MUST BE PLUCKED OUT!!
What dark hole do you crawl into?
Do you have a special eye removal place? 
A room where you go elbow deep in blood and brains,
Where you trade sticky eyes for glass eyes?
Eyes that never saw their mother, never watched a sunset,
Nor saw their loved ones.
Hard rock eyes that that know not of life nor of you,
But glisten outward in silly happy glances of endearment.
Eyes that reflect back your lies.
"I didn't die, I didn't suffer, I didn't care that you killed me."
Yeah the trigger happy fingers of your wasted hands
Do not want the blood stains pointing back to them.
So you pretend, you lie, you take away their death. 
Your shameful acts replace their dignity.
You can't leave the sticky accusing traces of your massacre.
The peaceful head must gleam from the wall.
Less all know the extent of your thoughtless vain acts.
So now you preen, enjoying your own invisible valor.
And there you stand, under the moose.
Smug, the bearer of death In the First Degree.
But while you laugh, can't you feel them??
The eyes?
THE EYES, STARING AT YOU!
WATCHING YOU..
Waiting....waiting....waiting for you.
Watching and waiting--the "eye bawls."
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE????
Linda Beane ([email protected])
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The Hunter's Trophy Bawl
