Black Crow کے بول

There’s a black crow in the branches looking down at me. They say that it’s a bad sign. Don’t know what it means, And the sun goes behind, behind a cloud. Chalk lines on the pavement wake me from my dreams. Soon they’ll be forgotten. Washed away by rain, And the sun and the rain, weave colours in the sky. A clock is ticking loudly, filling up my head. No one ever winds it, but it isn’t going to stop, And the earth moves around, around the sun. There’s a black crow in the branches looking down at me. They say that it’s a bad sign. Don’t know what it means, And the sun comes out, from behind a cloud.