The Crow and the Nightingale

Thank you for your words of longing
It doesn’t really matter whether or not I understood them
Doesn’t really matter where they take me
Or how they take me

A witch-black hill in a storm
An unruly sea of salt-frozen fear
Or a paradise of palms
As long as it’s not here
As long as it’s not here

But a rooftop I can go, to scream above the birds
Adding my dull sheen to your brilliant words
A job for Christo

Wrapping the sun with silk
Wrapping the sun

Wrapping the sun with silk
Wrapping the sun
Wrapping the sun with silk
Make it something that can be looked at without hurting
I can try

I can’t fly but I’ll open my rough beak
Squawk at the sky
The crow and thе nightingale

I can’t fly but I’ll open my rough beak
Squawk at thе sky
The crow and the nightingale
The crow and the nightingale

Wrapping the sun with silk
Wrapping the sun
Wrapping the sun with silk
Make it something
Better than blindness
Better than darkness
Make it something that can be looked at
Without hurting
Without hurting

Locking Helen of Troy in a padded room
Behind frosted glass
Howlin’ at the moon
Squawking at the sky
A racket
And a tune