• Oh, midnight avian of evening down
    What be your motive for tredding
    Upon wheat fields of earthen tones and cocking your head ‘round?

    Die Krähe.
    The Crow.
    Wearing his leather boots so.

    Oh, beguiling being of shadowy tones
    ‘t**t be the reason for strutting so?
    So gallantly splendid
    But balefully morbid
    In both manner of walk and air.

    Die Krähe.
    The Crow.
    His leather-clad talons go

    On
    And
    On.