CROW,



had lived as a great warrior and mercenary body guard to many a queen and kingdom, been betrayed by many as well. cheated death many times till the last battle where he fell. death picked him up taking him to his realm, as he lay there death for his cheek in defeating him he gave him life but as his messenger crow scratching with his burning talon the mark of the pentagram on his chest , branding him and giving him all powers, and powers over crows when he is human. he cannot die but can he live also , only death can give him what he may be looking for . only allowing him human form at the witching hour /the lost hour ,between midnight and one. only those with the sight could see this timeless hour of deaths realm. as the crow awakes on the still battlefield he shakes his feathers and looks around at all the dead as the rain falls heavily he knows deep inside he needs to tell someone something but doesnt know what or who being a dark messenger but the battle was so hard and long he cannot remember how he got there , he takes off and flys through the cold and rain for many miles . totally worn out, he spies a beach he remembers from the past and lands .as he does so he changes to his human form a strong well muscled warrior mercenary .with memorys of the past . a large black warhorse appears next to him with all he needs. mounting the black steed he rides to who knows where in search of who knows what but he has a burning desire for revenge in his heart,



THE CROW AND THE CANDLE
The candle in the corner, Moves shadows up the wall Open up the window, for a friend to call The candle shines its glow, out into the room Holding back the darkness, shining through the gloom.
There’s a tapping on the window, to tell you he has come Time to hear the tales, of the day that’s done.
A coat of glowing black, those eyes of darkened blue Sitting by the candle, quietly watching you.
You know he’s saying something,although he doesn’t speak Marking on the table, with his hardened beak.
While the candles burning, His story will be told All too soon the day comes, the candle soon goes cold.
There’s always one more candle, there’s always one more night To listen to the stories, of his day time flight.
So always keep a candle ,Burning in the night A welcome in the darkness , to give a friend a light.



THE CROW
The crow he sits at deaths right hand And winks a knowing eye, Deaths gaze is cold and empty He knows when you must die,
They watch the sands of time Trickle through the glass of life, The scythe is so much sharper Than any kind of knife.
The crow he flaps up to the air And death he rises too, He gets up from his old oak chair Soon he will come for you,
Out to the stable where his horse Is waiting for the ride, You need not watch you need not run For there’s no where to hide.
The crow he rises to the sky And heads out to the night, Death he follows on that steed With coat of shinning white,
Dark clouds in the distance The day it turns to night, Watch for the crow for soon he comes He’s taken up the flight.
To lead his master on his task For he just can’t delay, The grains of sand have all run out They know you’ve had your day,
One quick stroke and it is done It’s time to find the light, Then death can carry on his job And ride off in the night.