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I walk this land where I belong
my own true world of pleasure
with rustling leaves and whispering breeze
and trout filled streams of beauty
Where the haunting sound of the loons song
echoes across the mountain valleys
where eagles soar and otters play
I love this place - it is so pure
this piece of American splendor
But as I watch a mighty elk
with a crown of velvet antlers
struts from a wood - just like a king
before him all is still
He stops to stare across his land
and I watch in breathless wonder
he lifts his head - danger looms
the ravens screech their warning
The air is still - the bull takes flight
this mighty beast is fearful
A distant crack - a hunter's cry
The bullet flies to home
The bull is down - his eyes are closed
His breath is clearly fading
As clouds race by
the sun breaks through
but the anger in me is raging
as one last time he tries to rise
but it's clear his life's expiring
In deep despair I try to speak
but my heart is full of pain
The loon sings its mournful song
it sounds like nature's crying
The King is dead - he is no more
Oh! How I hate this land