instinctive

instinctive as the sun,
when the moon begins to rise,
so does my instinct tell me,
"Hide! My master, Hide!"

for men they come with guns,
in holiness they hunt;
be they giant or a runt,
they kill to out the brunt.

and now the end is near;
tell me: where to hide?
can they find me, smell my fear?
would they kill a man untried?