| Cold hunters knife
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| Washed in a silver rain
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| Washed in wings and pierced by those claws that cling
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| To the throats and hands of death
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| Bold brazen child
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| Who said you could do these things
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| Made from rain and light blowing in from space
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| Now, to kill, and fight, and hide your claim
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| Cold haunted heart
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| Your dream of my warm embrace
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| All the while carving with all your hate
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| Rage and bile, to turn me cold
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| But cold is home and I am winter
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| Blinding light and blasting horns
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| If you want warmth then I am summer
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| But choose the one you’re wanting more |