| We wandered through the darkness of the day
|
| To show me where the years have slipped away
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| It’s idle hands that dig the grave
|
| So give your fingers what they crave
|
| The flowers bloomed as bright as blood
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| Your feather crown fell in the mud
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| We said to death, «Well, not today
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| Bring tomorrow what it may.»
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| You’ll find me where the crows fly, with my feather crown, brittle and dry
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| Drinking the tears from their beady eyes, the murder, the murder she cries
|
| Where the crows fly (Murder she cried)
|
| Where the crows fly (Murder she cried)
|
| (To show me where the years)
|
| Where the crows fly (Murder she cried)
|
| (It's idle hands)
|
| Where the crows fly (Murder she cried)
|
| We wandered through the darkness of the day (Where the crows)
|
| To show me where the years have slipped away (Where the crows)
|
| It’s idle hands that dig the grave (Where the crows fly)
|
| So give your fingers what they crave
|
| You’ll find me where the crows fly, with my feather crown, brittle and dry
|
| Drinking the tears from their beady eyes, the murder, the murder she cries
|
| Where the crows fly (Murder she cried)
|
| Where the crows fly (Murder she cried)
|
| Where the crows fly (Murder she cried)
|
| Where the crows fly (Murder she cried)
|
| Where the crows fly (We wandered through the darkness)
|
| Murder she cried
|
| Where the crows fly (To show me where the years)
|
| Murder she cried
|
| Where the crows fly (It's idle hands)
|
| Murder she cried
|
| Where the crows fly (So give your fingers)
|
| Murder she cried |