The Messenger

Oh black raven, my raven;
What have you foreseen.
Dark tidings and woe,
Rich pickings for death.
Let the gods wipe my tears,
With this falling rain.
Let this lake be my graveside,
And woods the golden hall.
Our braves long since fallen,
With the tides of the war.
Our words no more spoken,
I’m ready to fall.
Bare message, my raven;
To gods I long to see.
Blackbird of the chosen,
Bare this prayer for me.
Oh black raven, my raven;
Bare message for me.
Come closer the foe,
And take my last breath.
Blackbird of the chosen,
Bare this prayer for me.
Let the gods wipe my tears,
With this falling rain.
Let this lake be my graveside,
And woods the golden hall.
Bare message, my raven;
To gods I long to see.
Blackbird of the chosen,
Bare this prayer for me.