CROWS FEAST ON THE DEAD

I awake to the crow singing songs of sin

As he opens his wings and cast's a shadow over my soul.

Another day I have to force myself to find meaning in a new beginning,

While in the back of my mind a parallel universe seems quite fitting.

Louder and louder the crow speaks to me.

He seems to be wiser as I get older.

I open the door and a shadowy man stands there.

His bright eyes felt welcoming, then he disappeared.

Closer and closer, the crow stands on my shoulder.

Like a man in a coffin he rests, as if he is home.

I must ask myself if this is all in my head,

Then I remember, crows only feast on the dead