I don't own Trigun, although it is a fabulous show. Nor do I own the title – it's from a book I read once, and seemed oddly appropriate. Everything else is mine though, so no touchie!
A Walk in Wolf Wood
Wolves wander through the woodland, racing by in night and day
With their silent laughter staying as they frolic and they play.
They are gracious in their givings, swift to nurture and to heal
But their very hearts and minds and souls are forged of burnished steel.
(((((()))))))
For he treads the turning paths, and he walks the secret ways
Yet the darkness dwells within him, remnants of ruthless days.
When the Fury drives him onwards, calls the bloodlust to arise
His howl of savage laughter echoes 'neath the shrouded skies.
(((((())))))
For the wolf is drawn to slaughter, to the lifeblood's crimson flow
And no matter how he hides his claws, or what his children know
He is still the grim avenger, and his purpose is made plain –
Not for him the soothing comfort, but the silence and the pain.
((((()))))
Though the soul be full of loathing, and of grief and rage and hate
Every creature has a comrade, and a man must have a mate.
Though he hide it from all knowing, though he mask it with a sneer
He is deadly beyond dreaming when he fights for what is dear.
((((()))))
For he is of kin to winter, as his chill eyes swiftly show
And will take the lash unflinching, and, unbowed, will take the blow
He will shoulder every burden, though it takes a heavy tool;
Yea, he'll follow though his actions if they cost him all his soul.
((((()))))
And no matter wrath and fire, never mind the squalid past
His snarl ripples onward, for he struggles to the last.
Never mind the wounds that grieve him, never mind encroaching night
For there's nothing that can hinder him from doing what is right.
((((()))))
He may love another freely, and may hate to dwell alone,
Yet a wolf is still a hunter, cast into the very bone.
And he may abhor violence, and may bicker and may harp
Yet he still is drawn to weakness. And his teeth are very sharp.