Black Crow

There’s a black crow in the branches
looking down at me.
They say that it’s a bad sign.
Don’t know what it means,

And the sun goes behind,
behind a cloud.

Chalk lines on the pavement
wake me from my dreams.
Soon they’ll be forgotten.
Washed away by rain,

And the sun and the rain,
weave colours in the sky.

A clock is ticking loudly,
filling up my head.
No one ever winds it,
but it isn’t going to stop,

And the earth moves around,
around the sun.

There’s a black crow in the branches
looking down at me.
They say that it’s a bad sign.
Don’t know what it means,

And the sun comes out,
from behind a cloud.