Hunting
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With no wind tearing through
No air in the morning
The haunting of the building is left to me
To appear in the room, to embody a specter
To fulfill the pregnant former factory
Flooded with fluorescent light
Drowned in ventilation
Offices alone at night humming
Dwelling on the past to bring the dead to life
I walk slowly every night
Throught the empty rooms of the changing shape
Hunting the white stag to see beyond
To the ancient pursuit
Following a feeling
To here where you found it dead in the mud