The Lonesome Death of Cecil the Lion
An Ode 'Gainst the Savage
Walter James Palmer killed Cecil the lion
He was shot with an arrow and then killed with a rifle
By a rich man who'd travelled in search of a trophy
And who'd paid fifty thousand to the men who would help him
Kill the lion in the woods who was then un-suspectin'
So he laid there in wait, in a jeep filled with petrol
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears
Take the rag away from your face
Now ain't the time for your tears
Walter James Palmer was a proud big game hunter
Who for years had been killin' all the best of God's creatures
Ever hiding behind the false strength of great weapons
And the moral command of a license and a permit
Would end the great beasts with a flick of his finger
And then show off his pride in the back of a picture
Stiff grin on his face, in behind the limp creature
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears
Take the rag away from your face
Now ain't the time for your tears
Cecil the Lion was the pride of Zimbabwe
He was 13-years-old and the heir to twelve cubs
A magnificent creature whose numbers were dwindlin'
Got tricked from the woods by a man set to kill him
Who hid behind weapons, on a jeep filled with petrol
Shot his next trophy, in the flood of a spotlight
Then tracked the poor lion, now grievously injured
Chased him on upwards of forty long hours
And ended the beast with a flick of his finger
Took his skin and his head as a mark of his greatness
And he never done nothing to Walter James Palmer
But you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears
Take the rag away from your face
Now ain't the time for your tears
Walter James Palmer was a proud big game hunter
Killed a lion in July, and the world it took notice
Justified what he'd done, said the hunt was all legal
Claimed that the lion was responsibly taken
And maintained that he hadn't done nothin' improper
But the world disagreed, sent the man into hiding
Repentant no doubt, but for all the wrong reasons
With the scandal above all the source of contrition
As the corpse of the lion grows cold and it festers
And the world spins confused as to some people's motives
Been happening for years still with no sign of stoppin'
Oh, but you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears
Bury the rag deep in your face
For now's the time for your tears
Writing credit to Bob Dylan (lyrics and cadence were drawn from "The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll")
Cecil the Lion at Hwange National Park in 2010
About the Creator
Michael Paul Michaud
Author of BILLY TABBS (& THE GLORIOUS DARROW) - (2014 - Bitingduckpress) and THE INTROVERT - (2016 - Black Opal Books). Member of Crime Writers of Canada, and International Thriller Writers Inc.
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