I fly into the night,
My wings make no sound.
I remain out of sight,
When the moon is full and round.

The snow is hard and cold,
As I perch atop a tree.
Can you hear my story so old?
Come listen, listen to me.

I was once a bird of color,
Of songs and ballads of Joy,
But my spirit was torn asunder,
By a deceptive charming ploy.

Now the blackest Black,
Soaring lonely and craven,
Hunting for a naive snack,
For I am the heartless Raven