Mr Corvus

Through dense cocoons of swirling sleep and drapes of silent night, long winding dark brings shivers deep neath skies bereft of light. A haunting breeze begins to moan as age-gnarled branches creak and groan, a haunting breeze, a haunting breeze, exhales a breath as cold as stone. Black feathers shroud a moonless sleep, malignant auras swell, dank undergrowth begins to creep where dying leaves once fell. A glint of eye from shadows bleak, a hooded form, a corvine beak, a glint of eye, a glint of eye, to prey upon the frail and weak. Then plummet into wakeless sleep amid satanic fire, where life and hope will slowly seep to hell’s eternal mire. As midnight chimes and dreams turn sour, observes the raven from his tower, as midnight chimes, as midnight chimes, all souls await the witching hour.