Run rabbit run, nose to the sky and feet in the pine needles

Dart through the roots and the rocks and the hard places,

let the thorns and burs do their mischief

for their knives cut less deeply than those of man

Smoke trails and sound screechers rake the canopies

sending the squirrels and songbirds to hell

War is in the air, flooding your snout with bile and sulfur

Mortars take to the sky in hearty flocks, like steel hawks

hunting for you the rabbit who hides amongst the brush,

in the hawthornes and thistles

But in the thistles waits the fascist fox and her cubs

with their tanks and shells and cunning lies

They'll have their way with the rabbits in the hawthornes

They'll drive them to the hills where the steel hawks wait,

to welcome them with the devil's cutlery

Fight for your innocence and hold close to your passion little rabbit

And run rabbit run, the fox is sly, run rabbit run, the hawks are nigh

if they catch you, among the thistles you'll lie,

feeling the forest move and the world die

The world will not sway below you in its gusty gates and

your haunches will touch not but the moist peat of an unmarked grave.