King of the Hunt

Sinew stretches long Muscles pushing strong Three behind and three in front At death's door there's no place to run Sharp points, they tend to silence When placed between your eyelids Convulsions twist and jerk the frame Especially when oxygen leaves the brain Oooh, ooh almost You almost got away Little pieces scattered about Your former flesh inside my mouth You were quick, but I am studied Your skin hangs from me, dry and bloodied