The Crow's Song

See me for I have made,

the image of myself fashioned in clay

Nor for night or blessed day,

can make me see the song we play

Our notes flee the world below,

solace only to the faithful crow

His cry rings the joke of death,

our lies he bears upon his crest

Regret rests in its deepest waters,

guilt nestles into its darkest corners

So flees does the crow,

And see

how he carries love aloft his wings,

With death sunken in one claw,

and life clasped in the other

Beholden to illusion, mesmerized does he fly,

From his pitched beak

the notes do cry,

life is love for the hope that we die.

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