Believe me officer,
I know the crows.

I know their black feathers,
Their call is cold,
It terrifies me.

I used to count them,
2 is safe,
3 is a warning,
4 is an omen,
5 is too late,
6 is a ******,
Six means death.

So what was I to do,
When I counted seven up in the roost?
I blew them back to hell,
No more counting,
No more omens.
Is killing those **** birds,
Really a crime?