The Crows
Solitude does seek some solace
Free from faithless fealty faces
who fear fidelity and sooth.
The fiends of night despise mice
Who have big hearts in their bosom
Which dead would rather devour,
For live flesh disgusts these heartless
crows
Who will never become your doves.
Death's wailing worms who
decompose
All but those who bleed
blood and hearts,
For the jackals shall see them killed,
An off'ring to secret shadows.
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