The Butcher - FOLK HOGAN

The Butcher

I start my day
Cleaning my blade
Sharpening knives
Taking lives
The look in their eyes
The warmth of their blood

At night, I wash clean my hands
Start making my plans
To cut to the bone
To cleanse and to hone
To flat off the skin
Remove the sin

Cut, tear through the meat
With blade and with teeth
Release to strain
Hang me to drain
Sever my coil
Baste, braise and broil

I, I am a man
With hooves for hands
With horns on my head
A beast in my stead
I hold death in my hand

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