Listen to the wind as it whispers,
Telling tales of dark and of night,
Watch the little violet flowers,
Waving to the setting sun.
See the raven fly to dark,
Feathers threading all the stars,
Gaze at the humble lark,
It calls and joins the serenade.
Clouds the color of shed blood,
Wash the sky the birds do fly,
Darkness rushing in a flood,
Drains away the feeling touch.
Listen to the cries for light, The hurt who scream and sigh,
Hear the birds laugh in spite,
For they must wait for morning to escape.
Fire lights the clouds ablaze,
Yells of terror bring the birds,
The horror that they do raise, Is only the start of night.
As midnight gazes upon the land, The raven and lark caw and laugh,
To those who still remain and stand,
Their efforts are only fueling their end.
Streaks of green and peaceful blue,
Begin to fray the darkness,
And as the sky changes hue,
The aching cold flutters away.
The robin and dove sing in peace,
As the night cries itself away,
The bleeding soul's torment will cease,
As the empty dark falls to dawn.
Sun rays pierce the blanket of night,
The birds cry and fly away,
The dead now end their plight,
Until the raven and the lark return, again.