The Crow - Midnight Sister

In dreams of shouting cities

Egyptian blue skies dripping

Your pretty things, she sings

The birds will flock to her

All simple things have gone

The crow belongs to him

Pale, pink nightgown, gold-digging

We’ll paint the town, hands bleeding

Your pretty things, she sings

The wind it blows her way

All simple things have gone

The birds stood still that day