The Tale Of

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Jack Harlon & the Dead Crows

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I sat alone waiting for death
Under my blanket of snow
A resting place for my companions
Massacred in their approach
But heaven don't speak with a wretch
Unlike the books that I've read
Now I sit by the fire, cursed with my life
And images I can't forget
Lo, be my curse
History in reverse
Selfless hands, fellow cries
They will scar me in time
And have I heard things in the night?
The shadow men in their disguise
Well they're whispering terrible things
Struck echoes with medicine eyes
And I get lost in circles
Tripping over people
And who I used to be
Comes weeping out of my seams
Well I may as well call it my home here
I hear the echoes calling
I hear the anger in me
I walk the tightrope to the edge of
The cavern in the trees

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