Field Crow

I've grown feathers

My nails rot off my fingers

And I've grown talons

I become a field crow

I flew down

To ask you a riddle

Throw the weakest out the nest

Pluck the feathers from my breast

I'm the mother in distress

I'm the daughter you'll detest

I'm the daughter

You'll regret

I'm the daughter

You'll regret

Throw the weakest out the nest

Pluck the feathers from my breast

I'm the mother in distress

I'm the daughter you'll regret

I'm the daughter

You'll regret

I'm the daughter

You'll regret

I'm the daughter

You'll regret

I'm the daughter

You'll regret