|Late last night, about a quarter to twelve
|In the middle of an awful storm
|I took fright at the terrible sight
|Of a raven flying into my room
|My blood ran cold, my heart stood still
|As I pulled the covers over my head
|A minute dragged by as I opened my eyes up
|To find her at the end of my bed
|Then she spoke in a devilish croak
|About herself being one of a score
|And I felt sick at the very idea
|Of dealing with nineteen more
|She said, "look out your window"
|I see a skyfull, I pull a rifle on them all.
|Pink sunrise in the wintry skies
|All warm on the wings of a dove
|She sinks and lands on the back of my hand
|And sings with the voice of love...
| "Thoughts made flesh can be beautiful things
| As I am one of the same,
| Fed so well on the best of your dreams
| And the beauty found within
| But those black beasts that you see in the east
| Are scratching on the orchard floor
| At split, sweet fruits and the writhing worms
| That you keep behind the straining door
| Go to the cellar!
| I see the beasts and they're eating
| Feasting on it".
|Fill my head with small white flowers
|Help the sweetness heal the sour
|Draw on high religious power
|Free the ravens from the tower.
|All About Eve