Skip to main content


  • Author:
  • Updated date:

Die Little Raven

She laid down.

A silent little sparrow, masking the raven she once was.

A blackened bird. So thoughtful and so ...human. She knew her place, in this place.

It was a time to be silent.

All the little sparrows so drab and so ...meek. An occasional agitated trill; as expected from a sparrow.

She let them surround her, their soft down and warmth; a mocking comfort.

It was alright, for Heaven is a place for all those forgotten here on earth.

So she laid with the sparrow, took stock in their chittering brigade.

There are no such things as heroes, no romance novel lies.

Oh the sparrows wept, as this raven, there she lay.

Die, die, little raven, lay your head right here. Lay your head right here.

Oh die my little raven;
The skies no longer see you, the air.. no longer ...hears.

Fly, fly little raven, far away from here.

Lay, down my little raven, lay your head right here.

Oh little raven, no longer shall you fear.

So fly little raven, lay right down and die.

There's nothing left for you--ou-ooo-ooo

The light you once worshiped, has faded to the past.

Remember God made Heaven, for all those left behind.
The lost... lost and the forgotten, little raven, lay down and die.

Oh raven I can hear you, oh raven I still see you.

Oh raven lay down and die.

Oh little raven, let it all die right now.

Oh a dark sky, twirrling like a lady falling from her faith.

Silken folds of spiders webs, jewels of encrusted death beetles scattered at her feet.

Tiny toes and tinkling bells. Fickle finger tips to trace the dawn, the dawn of dark.

Oh little lady, lay down here and die.

Come to me, woman fall from grace.

Here and there, to and fro. Around she dances, her bells tinkling.
Her court, a court of corpses, grinning garishly; the same in death as were in life.

Oh lady of the night, close your eyes and go to sleep.
Fallen lovers cannot hear you, the sea-storm sky, he cannot see you anymore.

Lay right here, sweet lady. Lay right here and die.

This world, is not made for soft things. gentle hearts and kind spirits.

Death comes to them all. Thrashed about and left forlorn and broken on the ground.

A little soul born warm and sweet, like honeysuckle nectar; quickly spoils and poisons a wandering bee.

They all marvel for a while, the beauty and grace as the flower sways on a warm breeze.

But too soon her heady fragrance turns their stomachs and pierces their heads.

Goodness and truth they cannot stand, they crush her beneath their boots.

The very face she turned to them, to make them smile; they torched and trampled.

No; this world is not made for soft and gentle things.

Related Articles