You were not some fawn
That I dragged back from a hunt
And laid on my lawn
You were a bird, in furs soft and fine,
I kept in a cage
Deep in my mine
But I'm getting old, and dull is my knife
And I am not
The hunting type
So sing your song, little bird, one more time
And you can go
Sing in the light
And let your wings cut through the sky
Like you cut
Right through my eyes
But I want you to stay with me tonight

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