Praise today,
Scorn tomorrow.
Promised refuge,
Pits of reproach.

The chameleon revels
in his robe of deceit,
Aiming lethal arrows,
Dampening noble names
in river of remorse.

Even he who eats at the table
gives his master away
for a price.

Watch your steps
as you tread this path,
The earth you roam is cold,
It reeks of dark souls
lurking in the shadows.

Nevertheless,
those who hunt
are men, not God.
Like the seasons,
they soon wither away.