Crows flock to endless meadows
where battles of ages past
have left pits of endless hollows
devoid of souls to the last
blade of grass, and tiny shrub
where once there were lovers
and a bustling hub
now it is only the covers
of shallow green and yellow
draped over the crying soul
of that wonderful fellow
who lost his life in this hollow hole
forever lost into the dark
and forever gone into the black
the wonderful meadow where song birds lark
has taken him, he'll never come back
