Rain drops from the branches
Tap against my feathered cap
Winds of the valleys
Move the mist from the meadows
And shake my feathered cap

Footsteps fall without a sound
As the moors make way for my feet
Gaze so loud scans the horizon
The gray weather's upon us

Hunt is young and but my back still carries
This wayward son through the highlands
End is near but I can't smell it yet
Another milestone I cross

Smiling sun casts its rays upon me
Birds call and I know their tongue
The wind is turning
Heathers waving

Scent of the prey
And I turn my feathered cap