Oh, midnight avian of evening down
What be your motive for tredding
Upon wheat fields of earthen tones and cocking your head ‘round?
Die Krähe.
The Crow.
Wearing his leather boots so.
Oh, beguiling being of shadowy tones
‘Twat be the reason for strutting so?
So gallantly splendid
But balefully morbid
In both manner of walk and air.
Die Krähe.
The Crow.
His leather-clad talons go
On
And
On.
What be your motive for tredding
Upon wheat fields of earthen tones and cocking your head ‘round?
Die Krähe.
The Crow.
Wearing his leather boots so.
Oh, beguiling being of shadowy tones
‘Twat be the reason for strutting so?
So gallantly splendid
But balefully morbid
In both manner of walk and air.
Die Krähe.
The Crow.
His leather-clad talons go
On
And
On.
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