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Feral Beasts
It is not my place to ask why the Meadowlark sings
It is not my place to ask why the wind blows fair
In the absence of human life, the trees are my muse
In the absence of fire, the snow is my blanket
I would rather die, to the natural maws of a lion
Than to the maws of the progress of man
For nature knows its place
It does not question its existence
The laws of the jungle may be cruel
But far less cruel than the laws of the waning, war-torn world of mankind
It is not my place to ask why the wind blows fair
In the absence of human life, the trees are my muse
In the absence of fire, the snow is my blanket
I would rather die, to the natural maws of a lion
Than to the maws of the progress of man
For nature knows its place
It does not question its existence
The laws of the jungle may be cruel
But far less cruel than the laws of the waning, war-torn world of mankind
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