It gets dark around here early,
because of all the crows.
What they want and where they came from,
no one really knows.
Crows are sour and surly,
with reason I suppose.
There are crows, crows, crows in the trees,
saying crows things, doing as they please.
There are crows, crows, crows everywhere,
but when I think of you dear I don’t care.

There are crows, crows, crows in the trees,
saying crows things, doing as they please.
There are crows, crows, crows everywhere,
but when I think of you dear, I don’t care.

It gets light around slowly,
because of how it goes.
Everyday we hear the same dumb list of those crows woes.
Thinking they’re so holy while leaving mementos.

There are crows, crows, crows in the trees,
saying crow things, doing as they please.
There are crows, crows, crows everywhere,
but when I think of you dear I don’t care.

I don’t care because I know you love me,
unlike all crows lurking above me…