The cold wind blows, the tree tops sigh
Crows upon a bough, loose their cry
And he can't hear nothing --
Nothin' at all.

Prayers of the pastor are the only sound
A cradle of blood, falls to the ground
They don't see nothing --
Nothing at all.

A single black crow flies overhead
Eyes stare out of branches
He nods a sleepy head
We cry and you cry, repent too late . . .

But the screams they start in the hollow of our lungs
And something wicked this way comes
And you can't see a thing for all the faces
And blackness fills the skies.

He tries to run away but they make a screeching sound
Louder than a train wreck leaving blood upon the ground
Thousands of crows swarm --
Slowly, pecking out his eyes.

//

But the screams they start in the hollow of our lungs
And something wicked this way comes
And you can't see a thing for all the faces
And blackness fills the skies.

You try to run away but we make a screeching sound
Louder than a train wreck leaving blood upon the ground
Thousands of crows swarm --
Slowly, we peck out your eyes.

A single black crow flies overhead
Eyes stare out of branches
You nod a sleepy head
We cry and you cry, repent too late . . .