Hungry Crow, why do you fly above?
I am not to be your meal
My scarred flesh, not to torn apart
Harvested and eaten like veal
Why do you fly above?
I am not to be yours
There is much left for me
Children to birth
Memories to foster
Battles to fight
O hungry bird, why do you fly above?
My skin flakes like wheat
My blood dries like paint
The land ripe with the harvest
Of a fresh, seasoned slaughter
Why must you choose me?
Men without friends, without child
But it matters not
Does it?
We are all young
The winner in all death is nature
For she never goes hungry
Never worried of a bad harvest
For man shall always deliver
The slaughter shall come and pass
But you remain, O hungry crow
How many men before have you consumed?
Do you bear children of your own?
The spell you bring is one of death.
Today, Black Crow
I am yours.
