Dirt. Other. Seal Cull. Zeneszám

Nothing to be seen in this clear white mist, but a man with a club that's clenched in his fist. Looking down at me one swing to cull, it doesn't take much to smash my skull. Then parted from my skin my bones lay bare, across the sea does nobody care? except the woman in a shop who favours my fur. But cant she see it looks better on me than it does on her