Hunting Hunting A wandering soul As it passes the gates It is suddenly a goal By the one who waits They must be collected Every last one Oh little one directed It has almost begun You must feel a shiver Running down your spine But merely a collecting sliver Of which I shall combine They told you to look on shadows But they have deceived I have shown you many battles They are not to be believed You have been foolish Thinking you can win Looking a little bluish You do make me grin
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