

Mercy, hunter, do not strike me,
I am the gazelle of these peaks,
so fair.
Mercy, hunter, do not strike me,
I am the gazelle of these peaks,
so fair.
I’m a gazelle, wounded and lone,
Scarred by the hunter,
my heart’s turned to stone.
I’m a gazelle, wounded and lone,
Broken by the hunter,
far from my home.
Through these heights, the gazelle roams free,
While the jagged rocks graze her feet,
you see. Through these heights,
the gazelle roams free,
While the sharp stones graze her feet,
you see. What have I done to my distant love?
Why does my darling fly like a dove?
What have I done to my distant
love? Why does he wander so far above?
Mercy, hunter, do not strike me,
I am the gazelle of these peaks,
so fair. Mercy, hunter,
do not strike me,
I am the gazelle of these peaks,
so fair.