On the lonely road, a crow was picking
At the fresh remains of a dead chicken.
It’s the circle of life, as far as I can see.
Everything is food; both you and me.
It’s all circle and cycles, you see.
Running away and then back again.
Life the enemy in our old age
That started out to be our friend.

It’s all ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Even solid steel is a victim of rust.
We can pretend might makes right
But that doesn’t stop the fall of night.
Water is necessary for us,
But without air, there is death.
We can live but a few moments
If we do not have our breath.

Without food, we will get weak.
And stone can break our bones.
Fire can consume us it is sure
But fire needs air, it is well known.
The crow pecks bones without joy
It is what it must to do survive.
The crow does not worry or frown.
It does what it does to stay alive.

The people that use that road
For the old crow’s grisly feast
Do not care for god or books
Or superstition in the least.
Congregations of god surely will
Hire mourners to wail their grief
About the loss of a pious soul.
No more honest than a thief.