The Crow

歌詞

A ways outside the tower and turmoil of towns, In the quiet color cutting of another splendid sunset on the spit of wire spun between two telephone pole necks, sits an awful fevered murder of crows. Itching the dusk with the call that only they can lay low, And so that day they did unwittingly dispose themselves to the appetite behind all O Men yet not comprehending their stick in the scheme of the prey-on-prey ballet of ending day Prey-on-prey ballet of ending day (x4) Those crows Twitching with the omen they've become on earth Several thousand thick in a fit, of everything but empty Those crows sicked, their starving wings on choking out the sun fall's sinking pinks Surrounded by the wellwater black of near night and become, Those crows dove into the quiet of the half sunken in sun To set themselves against the same take-spark that aches in men Their die, their dive, and their dire became them And all that barged into the sunset's wellwater pith of a sky seeming what if, we're spit back out to doom and sings of flocks of forks with wing An obvious and ominous earth ode and grand To the soaring sordid appetite (the soaring sordid appetite) (to the soaring sordid appetite) of man The sky has always been a complex death of all its hunting things, And so (cause) So (cause) shall the crow (cause) Cuts its throat's most awful cough From its heavy metal song