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The Fate of a Crow
This is the coldhearted fate of a crow,
Jet black feathers,
Filled with sorrow,
As the people turn and scream,
He wakes up from that horrible dream,
The job was done with no delight,
Thinking of people filled with fright,
As his emotions overthrew,
He started hating himself through and through,
The crow wanted to end this horrible nightmare,
So the crow made a noose out of an angels hair,
The crow put the noose around his neck,
But the crow had still yet to treck,
So the crow said it was usless, that it could't be,
He knew that nothing would set him free,
So he muttered the words under his breath,
"I am the taker of life,
Not the taker of death."
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