The Ravens gather for a death
Cold wind hits back
Black silhouettes of darkness
Fly in lack.
One of those death parties,
You know?
Where the trees rustle,
And winds blow.
Almost like a memorial
To celebrate life
In a way,
In terms of strife.
They join together
Gather round
Eye gawkingly
Fly without sound.
Cold-fingered Dawn
Arises from afar,
The last time this corpse
Will see her star.
I watch
From afar off.
Look at their ritual,
Hear their scoff.
They call me,
They entice
They beckon thither,
Partake! In our rotting sacrifice.
One of those death parties,
You know?
Far away,
In the bloodied snow.
I advance further,
Closer to the Feast.
A choice meal, delicacy,
Enjoyed by the Least.
The Ravens gather for a death,
Something to love,
Flying up up high
On the wings of a dove.
One of those death parties,
You see?
One those,
All full of Glee.
Almost like a memorial
Together to eat
Celebrate the life
Of our favourite meat.
