A crow sits all alone
In company
A room full of brothers
Sisters
A lover
Savoring the sweet melancholy
Pushing out the poison
Of another times misery
The midnight rainbows
Dripping from the lips of the forgotten
Paints a portrait
Of a broken backs history
But how else should he bleed
The need to feed
Is a most beautiful mystery
So sing porch crow, sing
Let the world go
In good company
There’s no need to think
So sing old soul, sing
Brother, we don’t mind
There I was, sitting in some kind of weird post-modern cult of the dispossessed and stray youth. Jammin' on a beat up Yamaha acoustic, the porch crow crooned and I heard.