歌词千寻
The
Crow
-
SubtleA
ways
outside
the
tower
and
turmoil
of
towns,In
the
quiet
color
cuttingof
another
spendid
sunset...on
the
spit
of
wire
spun
betweentwo
telephone
pole
necks,sits
an
awful
fevered
murder
of
crows.Itching
the
dusk
with
the
call
that
only
they
lay
low,And
so
that
day
they
did
unwittingly
disposethemselves
to
the
appetite
behind
all
OMen
yet
not
comprehending
their
stick
in
the
schemeof
the
prey-on-prey
ballet
of
ending
day...the
prey-on-prey
ballet
of
ending
dayprey-on-prey
ballet
of
ending
dayprey-on-prey
ballet
of
ending
dayprey-on-prey
ballet
of
ending
dayseveral
thousand
thickin
a
fit,of
everything
but
empty.Those
crows
sicked,
their
starving
wingson
choking
out
the
sun
fall's
sinking
pinks...Surrounded
by
the
wellwater
blackof
near
night
and
become,Those
crows
dove
into
the
quietof
the
h