The Old Black Crow, on his stark rock
Watching for death and corruption
When he sees the weak lamb, that falls off its feet
He revels in the destruction.

There are birds that tear their prey limb from limb
They are sharp in claw, beak and eye
And there are those that feast on the spoils of the fight
And yes, such an old bird am I
Oh, such an old bird am I.

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