A murder of crows outside the window to my soul,
laughing, crying,
their eyes foretold to me of the emptiness deep within me.
These feathered phantoms dancing,
acting out the play across the skies so gray,
of joy and sin,
pleasure yet to begin,
of frail lives that will never end,
of the tragedy beneath my skin,
my flesh parting before the shadow of the fallen soul hovering over the child’s cradle.
My hands that can not save that in which I gave my last strands of life,
and so the angel of mercy slid the Misery Chord into my veins,
and death became my bride.
And never have I felt so alive,
as when I was free of my mortal binds,
but forsake me!
It was not to last,
my own dreams break me,
and my wounds were opened aghast.
Yet none of this mattered to me,
though the blood cried from out of me,
my veins are severed clean;
you cannot judge me.
The jackdaw laughs; for every soul within heaven…
now stands above me.