the crow carries with it,
a world lined with grief,
cast out shadows and dying breaths.
it dips its beak in the souls of its enemies,
and its bloody class rip the fabric of the world from its place.
Their wings drip shadow
riding on a plague breeze.
they're the devils you don't make deals with.
hold your loved ones close,
for when the crows fly by,
vapid with justified evil,
a being as mere as the universe,
as vast as a grain of sand,
you may find you don't love them at all.
the early bird may get the worm,
but our murder preys on the beings that come out at night.
