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This snow won’t get spattered (I’m blocked)

with black bilberry.

Mustn’t get puffed up! Mustn’t get puffed up!

Sing, little birdie!

Fallen warriors strew the field of battle,

the field of agony.

Must be free! Only when free!

If only free!

Can you remember the past, you fragile mite?

What song was there!

Whistle quietly, shudder, and fluff up your

grey feathers.