Future Wars

"Crows, wipe the blood off the end of your claws"

Said the vulture, "Let's gather like storms for the war, for the war"

Ah, crows, as the night turns its skin into coal

Dark as corpses but cluttered with gold

They will label you thieves, wolves, and whores, but

You are nothing less than angels

You are nothing less than angels

You are nothing less than angels

You are nothing less than angels

To the cast down and covered in black

Ain't this the bloodiest mess in the world? Said the virgin, a torn little girl

Ah, boy, you went and made a sweet wreck of my soul

And I've already forgiven you

And blood, it was running down her dress in streams

Into her hands where she was stitching on the flesh

He'd left in sections on the carpet near a bed

That never slept while you were sleeping in her clothes

That he had laid with on the floor

With all his fingers crossed in hoping that the distance wouldn't grow

But how it grew, and how it hurt

And how it hallowed every

Memory he'd never felt was threatened by a thing the world

Could conjure up to kill them, oh, but he let it kill them

What a bunch of fools we lovers are

And now she's smiling, with her self put back together

Just a shadow of the past before the war

All sewn together, like a city sick from storms

And sick of waiting for a god to call the floods out of her home

What a bunch of fools we lovers are

We lovers are, when tempted by the taste of flesh

"My boy, you are nothing more

Than a thief and a whore in a suit of the finest of armor"

Laughed the vulture, laughed the vulture

"Pathetic little child, I am embarrassed for you"