The hollow light Is still on the fields Where the winter has warmed And the snows have drained away And the hunter’s cry Is still on the air As the bullet flies home But the heart that’s pierced with it Still is racing Still is racing, alone
The silver shoals Of the light in the deep Brush the glittering skein Where the great, dark body writhes And the trembling jaw The unfathoming sounds Of leviathan, bound As his heart, though weakening Still is racing Still is racing, alone
You are racing You are racing Alone