Hungry Hungry Hungry Hungry Hippos
On the day of the last white pellet, Yellow Hippo pulled out his harmonica and trilled a little ditty. It wafted into the boxy night sky, aided only by the small crackling fire that Blue Hippo started for warmth. They shared stories of games past, when life was but a larkish competition. Green Hippo laughed grimly, a small glimmer of hope flickering as fast and intangibly as the billowing flame before them. Then the true Hungry Hungry Hunger set in.
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