St. Louis Disaster
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Ancient Hunters

St. Louis Disaster


I feel cold within my soft tissues
There are tree holes in my body
Here they come, the ancient hunters

I can see
Them miles ahead
As well my future

Tied to a sacred tree
Watching days of mercy
Holding the footprints
Under the veil

I turn invisible
Sending my memories from the eyes to the earth
Here they come, the ancient
Hunters

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