The crows crowed their last song

The earth’s blowed its last wind strong

With death around the corner

Looking for the friend of a mourner

The loveless faces full of lines

Who have lost their heart down the mines

They moan and groan like an endless drone

As the sands of time fall for the old crone

He is near his end

She is near the bend

Taking the last breaths of life

With their morbid personal strife

As they pound the stone

This old sorry crone

Whining and moaning

Creaking and groaning

How life is not fair

Like an old rocking chair

For their lesson has not been learnt

And the spirit has itself burnt

Now the Sandman glides

In long purposeful strides

To give them final peace

And their corporeal self will cease

In the night they sleep

The scythe will sweep

Let them go, don’t you fear

Otherwise you will be next, my dear

In the tales and truths of the wild

There is only the heartful child

Who will run to the end

And fly ’round the bend