Remembering The Eyes Of The Lion

Born in a cave
Enslaved by my shadow
My bed is hay
My warmth is a fire
I hunt
With bow and arrow
I draw water
From the rain
The light of the moon
Sings me to sleep
Until morning breaks
With its rising mist
I will make music with the drum
And melody with the flute
Waiting for the day
When the raven will cry
And I will fall on my own sword
Remembering the eyes 
Of the lion