It rushes over fields,
Whipping the snow in twists on mountain peaks,
Until my lover yields,
My hungriness is only abated,
When the heart stops beating,
A wildness like mine cannot be restrained,
Until all the sheep I see stop bleating,
The sound of mandolin strumming far off,
Might still soothe this blood thirst,
But the memory of who I am might die,
If I don’t see you first.
Oh, when we met,
That’s when my life began,
Wild is the wind that rushes through me now,
Shearing my fur until I feel human.
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