We have sown the bones in the blood-soaked soil
Might we have known what harvest moons would show
The hero drawn and torn
The savior scorned
And the beating of the wings
There go there go the doves
And the beating drum
Here come the crows
Black as Stone
(Here they come, Here they come)
When we wager souls on the wayward shores
Might we have known what the tides would hold
But some feeble word just can’t leave your throat
And the beating of the wings
There go there go the doves
And the beating drum
Here come the crows
Black as Stone
(Here they come, Here they come)
And the beating of The Wings
There go there go the doves
And the beating drum
Here come the crows
Might we have known