A feeling divine
The light sets behind the pines
A pack of wolves whine
Hunting has its time
The old country doesn’t mind
Something undefined
A natural lust
Hunger wants us to survive
Moths all turn to dust
Drugs turn men to crime
Words left dead without a rhyme
Murder the despised
Turning to the skies
Howls of hunters wet the eyes
Songs of taking lives
Cyrus McGoldrick/2014
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