  He's dead, I watched him die. He cast a spell on my mate, They loved, and the moon whirled 'round the sky, They mocked at my rage and hate. Blood red from the burning sea The sun rose, and I knew! My soul whined wild little songs to me, I did what I had to do. I have taken the bone of his thigh, I have fashioned it into a horn; And I sing my soul's song, shrill and high, And curse the day he was born. |
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