I guess he's ready to eat,
to serve himself in that hot summer heat,
Seems this old dog's ready to dine,
fresh chunks of horse flesh hang heavy in clumps o'er a red fire,
Long days through the cold grey of winter,
from cub to cultured adulthood
it has yet to be different,
All hunter's hunt for their dinner,
there are none who are righteous
and all whom are born
are sinners.
TA
to serve himself in that hot summer heat,
Seems this old dog's ready to dine,
fresh chunks of horse flesh hang heavy in clumps o'er a red fire,
Long days through the cold grey of winter,
from cub to cultured adulthood
it has yet to be different,
All hunter's hunt for their dinner,
there are none who are righteous
and all whom are born
are sinners.
TA
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