Prairie Wolves
Up where the white bluffs fringe the plain,
When heaven's lights are on the wane;
They sing their songs as demons might
Shriek wild a chorus to the night.
Gaunt, gray brutes with dripping fangs,
And eyes a-flame with hunger pangs;
With lips curled back in snarls of hate,
They wail a curse against their fate.
When heaven's lights are on the wane;
They sing their songs as demons might
Shriek wild a chorus to the night.
Gaunt, gray brutes with dripping fangs,
And eyes a-flame with hunger pangs;
With lips curled back in snarls of hate,
They wail a curse against their fate.
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