Crows

The crows gather 'round me
And I gawk in amazement
Their shimmery red blacken feathers
A sixth sense tells them death
They're drawn to the sadness, the tears
A beating heart uninterested them
That's what you left here
A broken, gray, lashed heart
These crows flew to me
As tho I'm really dead
The thing is I'm not
These crows gather 'round me
And they scream with joy
They think I'm dead...no
A hurt, broken, used person
That's what lays around them
These crows gather 'round me
As to comfort me to the
end