This Life

This life
This life that we have
Is a fragile thing
That creaks with age in the morning

And a crow waits
And he's got all the time
That you don't

The end
The end when it comes
Is a tug on a string
Scrim-shrouded light on a black wing

And the crow's gone
With barely a beating of breath
Barely a beating of breath

For each a silent bell
Reckoning with a wave
Gloaming's crow-dark beak
Swallows everything

For each a silent bell
Reckoning with a wave
Gloaming's crow-dark beak
Swallows everything