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The dark crow man sits and stares |
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Into the oblivion, into cold, into nothingness |
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It's snowing in his mind |
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He's created himself in his own image |
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Lust held for him means naught |
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A knock on the door brings no smile to his cruel lips |
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The welcome in a woman's eyes holds nothing for him |
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Alone on his haunches the hair raises on the back of his neck |
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His dead eyes pierce the night |
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As his gaze falls down on the city |
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It fills him the method ascertained, conviction |
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He knows what to do and moves to commit the deed |