Hunting in Blue

The sound of the slide milking its fang
The sweat on your palms as you meander.
The target's beyond some door but you'll never know where
And the night is like a muted recording studio with the lights out.

From a distance, reality breathes
and you hear the bark of some angry highway dog
On a highway with hundreds of angry metal hounds
Then the other snake attacks and stings your shoulder.

It's wet like rain but in a split second, you react with no pain.
Lightning screams in the night from the extension of your forearm and in an instant a father's dead.
A brother silenced from anger and fearlessness in the struggle for living well.

Foot soldiers all go to hell but you'll be carried off by the Valkyrie.
Backup will arrive too late but wait, there's a light,
Or that's what you'll tell them if they get there to save your life
soon! And you drift off to sleep in a recording studio with no mics or lights.