The crow calls
To those who came
Who have the balls
To get it done
His wings, they spread
And he will sore
Until we're dead
We are no more
A shrilling sound
Comes from my breast
And will be found
A hole in my chest
The crow will go
Deep inisde
Into the hole
There deep, he'll hide
Others will come
And eat my flesh
Until I am one
With the rotting mesh
Onward they'll fly
And spread desease
And they'll go by
Like a passing brease