When the rooks were laid in piles by the sides of the road

They were crashing into the aerials, tangled in the laundry lines

And, gathered in a field, they were burned in a feathering pyre

With their cold, black eyes

When the swallows fell from the eaves, and the gulls from the spires

The starlings, in millions, would feed on the ground where they lie

The ambulance men said “there’s nowhere to flee for your life,”

So we stayed inside

And we’ll sleep until the world of man is paralyzed

Oh, the falconer awakes to the sound of the bells

Overhead, and southbound, they are leaving his life

And each empty cage just rings in his heart like a bell

Underneath these cold stars, in their trembling light

And he cries, “Amen, let their kingdom come tonight, let this dream be realized.”