The clicking of raven claws,
On the tin roof.
The evening swelling with lonesome cricket songs,
Clouds coming over the mountains,
As black as the coal under them.
Claws that sound like thunder,
Pounding on the tin roof.
Darkness pools in the summer skies,
Pouring and pluming like ink in still water.
The nights in the mountains are lonely,
It's just the ravens and I, and sadness for miles.