'Tis sorrow that I feel
For I haven't any caribou for a meal
Nor hare, nor bird,nor veal
'Tis the summer air that I can not bear
For starvation I do fear
Nor winter isn't very near
'Tis the moon for which I weep
For even my pups can't utter a peep
Nor the pack that I keep
'Tis my final breath
For my stealth and health
Nor my body or mind ready for this death
'Tis for this life we hunt
For the moon nor pack is blunt
Nor is the runt
