A top Branches of seeder and Oak the Raven utters a croak, for on breaded crust a man do choke.
By thrust of feathered black wing the Raven takes to the sky, As on cold and stoney floor a man do die.
From a high this stormy night is heard the Raven's Cry, for in Raven's eye men become prey as they die.
Beware the sound all men do dread, for it is said.
When from the heavens is heard the Raven's Cry, so upon the earth men they die.
So once more I do warn, for matters it not be it noon, dawn or at light in the early morn.
From Raven's Cry only death is born.
©thornheart
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