The Birds in the dark love to clap
they do not sing under the shadows,
but revel in their calamity
and clatter throughout the echoes

The Birds in the dark see all,
yet are blind to the sight,
but see everything they want
and stumble upon the branches

The Birds in the dark know best,
they understand the understanding
but search ever so superficially
and do not find the burrowed worm

The Birds in the dark never rest
they flutter 'till the world's end
but never discover land dry,
and remain in the haul of my arc.

The Birds in the dark will die.