The Crow would know it’s all a show
The veil of self-defeat.
The Fox has mox and slips the locks
But dies out on the streets.
The worst is cursed to quench the thirst
Vanity laid bare.
We taste the waste of love erased
Deserved sweet despair.
And debt is met with perfect threat
With nothing more to say.
The winds of sin caress the skin
It all just turns to Gray.