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Lyrics:
Hunter not the hunted The cast wind blows through me cold Breathing deep deep down pike fishing Grabbing out his hands full Eels writhing One day spoonbills did stoop down their beaks To the black sweet star swaying water Fine dreams Seeing him there with his coat hung on the tail By the door swinging open And there they stand still boy girl In the morning firelight Washing their hands in the snow.
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