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The Dark Ones ride through the forest at night

His gazed affixed to an orange distant light

A black cloud rises through the air

As snow falls to the ground

Gaining speed he approaches

Bodies lie strewn about

Some trying to get inside

The others try to get out

The Blood of the Hunted

Rising on the wind

So unclean is the air

that draws them in

The curse is calling

The sentence is death

What now will you say

with your dying breath?