The Crow

A fat and eerie

Dark and dreary

Blue-eyed crow named Dearie

Sang the song of life

And added a little strife

As it perched on the blade of a knife.

Who can say,

Even in our day,

What made the crow this way?

It sang the song

And it wasn't long

Before everyone muttered along.

Conformity, you see,

Had stung us like a bee

Individuality was the fee.

We paid our dues

Like we had no clue

What this would d

It ruined your mind;

Now we're in a bind

Our thoughts undermined (Your precious resource mined!)

Like a mindless herd

We followed a bird

All because a song we heard.