On this track, you can hear the faint, metallic clink of a trap being set and the rhythmic breathing of a man trying to disappear into the brush. In “Hunger Knows the Woods,” Boone “Dusty” Maddox paints a portrait of the wasteland not as a playground, but as a classroom where the only passing grade is a full stomach.
The Belly’s Blade
For Boone, hunger isn’t just a sensation; it’s a “blade” and a “teacher.” This song moves away from the mechanical “how-to” of his earlier work and into the instinctual. It’s about reading the “ripple,” the “hawk’s shadow,” and the “hoofprints” in the frost. In Sector 8, the woods are indifferent—they “don’t forgive”—but they are predictable to those who have learned the rhythm of the wild.
One Prayer in the Cold
There is a profound humility in these lyrics. Boone acknowledges that “each catch is a grace.” Whether it’s a “trout’s silver flash” or a “rabbit’s sly” getaway, the hunter’s sky is a place of constant learning. The line “Hunger’s the fire that keeps it real” reminds the listener that in the apocalypse, philosophy ends where starvation begins.
The track ends on a haunting note of uncertainty: “The woods keep me livin’, though the heart ain’t sure.” It’s a rare moment of vulnerability for a Maddox, admitting that while his stomach might be satisfied, his soul is still wandering the ridges looking for something more than just “one more meal.”
HUNGER KNOWS THE WOODS
by: Boone “Dusty” Maddox
Deer track’s faint where the briars grow,
River runs quiet where the catfishes go.
My belly’s a blade, cuts sharp through the morn,
Hunger’s my teacher since the day I was born.
I read every ripple, I know every sign,
The hawk’s shadow falls on the ridge’s spine.
A hook in the current, a snare in the brush,
The woods feed the patient, no need to rush.
Hunger knows the woods, where the wild things roam,
It carves out a path to a supper called home.
One shot, one line, one prayer in the cold,
The woods give enough if your heart’s bold.
The frost bites my fingers, the wind stings my face,
But I trace the hoofprints to a hidin’ place.
A trout’s silver flash in the dawn’s pale glow,
Hunger’s my map where the wild things go.
The squirrel’s too quick, and the rabbit’s too sly,
But I learn their ways ‘neath the hunter’s sky.
Each miss is a lesson, each catch is a grace,
The woods don’t forgive, but they know my face.
Hunger knows the woods, where the shadows play,
It taught me to hunt when the world went astray.
One kill, one meal, one night to endure,
The woods keep me livin’, though the heart ain’t sure.
The rabbit don’t run when the moonlight’s thin,
And the trout don’t bite till the mist rolls in.
The woods got a rhythm, a pulse you can feel,
Hunger’s the fire that keeps it real.
Hunger knows the woods, where the shadows play,
It taught me to hunt when the world went astray.
One kill, one meal, one night to endure,
The woods keep me livin’, though the heart ain’t sure.
The woods keep me livin’… though the heart ain’t sure.