The Crow

The bodies and blood of wounded and dead,
Are my joy, my wine and my bread,
We fly high by the light of the moon,
A fleeting shadow not seen till your doom.

We are the fire and beauty in death,
You fear and run from what we know best,
Our voices among the clamours of war,
Taking what we wish for what we wish it for.

Your blood paints our feathers red,
The crimson colour of the dead,
Once black as night now red as sin,
We'll steal your soul if you let us in.

You rule the earth as we the sky,
You dare not reach where we do fly,
For we bring death and disaster,
To all, save for a young child or our master.

Our voices call to tell of the fallen,
Screeching aloud when another life is stolen,
We are the guides leading you home,
To this palace of darkness we have always known.

You will not see us though we are there,
Forever our presence you unknowingly share,
We are not evil, sadistic or cruel,
But this world of the dead we will eternally rule.

You have no idea what you have done,
From lies and webs and traps you once spun,
Now you will suffer an unforgiving fate,
When we reluctantly usher you towards Hell's gate.

We fly with the wind behind our death black wings,
Leaving the place and the future it brings,
We have taken all we want from this world,
Your destiny has long since unfurled,
Killing all except the ever faithful bird,
We served death though we spoke not a word,
Our old home is painted with your life's blood, so red,
Returning to how it once was; dead.

We are dust and shadow,
We are gone and hollow,
The light we have taken,
When the world you have forsaken,
We are the ending of tomorrow,
We are the last,
I am
The Crow.