This Life

This life This life that we have Is a fragile thing That creaks with age in the morning And a crow waits And he's got all the time That you don't The end The end when it comes Is a tug on a string Scrim-shrouded light on a black wing And the crow's gone With barely a beating of breath Barely a beating of breath For each a silent bell Reckoning with a wave Gloaming's crow-dark beak Swallows everything For each a silent bell Reckoning with a wave Gloaming's crow-dark beak Swallows everything