This one cries tears for the dead.
This one’s nothing in his head.
This one stands and remains true.
It’s a fraudulent act, I guarantee you.

A Raven calls unto his flock.
They do not hear a single squawk.
For they are deaf and do not heed.
And they are blind and do not see.

That I, the Raven, am still here,
Squawking warnings in their ears.
His flock before him, in a daze,
Part and fly their separate ways.

Yet one turns, to say goodbye,
And he is blessed to never die.
For in the end, nothing is true,
It all depends on me and you.

Misinterpreting souls
Can get you killed, the Raven knows.
So clear your eyes, and clear your ears,
And clear your sight, and clear your hears.