Crows cry out to those who lie,
to those who fly right on by.
But do these crows know not why,
the reason why I really cry?
The reason why I really try,
to help those who need it most,
to those who feel they've seen their ghost.
Or to those who feel unjust,
or the overwhelming lust,
of just wanting to see those crows,
those birds who just seem to know,
that even though we try to hide,
they still know we've cried and lied.