A bed of black down

Do you know the nature of the Raven
or of the calamity he brings?
You’ll not find one who is more craven.

Stubble-chinned or clean-shaven,
he’ll beguile you with the song he sings.
Do you know the nature of the Raven?

He’ll play you on by misbehavin’:
twisting words, belying meanings.
You’ll not find one who is more craven.

Dare you bring him to your haven,
a victim of his smooth preenings.
Do you know the nature of the Raven?

He says that you’re the one who’ll save him
and pull you down beneath his wings.
You’ll not find one who is more craven.

By the morning you’ll be needing savin’
for you’ll be dancing on his strings.
Do you know the nature of the Raven –
you’ll not find one who is more craven.

The ravens’ cry

Hear now a familiar tale
of wartime pageantry.
Can you hear the ravens’ wail?

They traveled far over hill and dale
and forests ripe with trees.
Hear now a familiar tale.

Arriving at last, hearty and hale,
to fight for their country.
Can you hear the ravens’ wail?

They clashed against, with weapon and mail,
the rival infantry.
Hear now a familiar tale.

Blood quenching the ground, a hearty ale
poured from men at their knees.
Can you hear the ravens’ wail?

None were left to say which side prevailed
in that visceral sea.
Hear now a familiar tale –
can you hear the ravens’ wail?