
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.