I sat the other day and read my newspaper
A day like so many others before
And I thought about all those dreams you've dreamt
That one after another have ended
Then I saw a picture of a girl
With a wounded crow on her arms
She runs through the forest
As fast as she possibly can
And she runs with fluttering locks (of hair)
She runs on her thin legs
And she prays and begs and she hopes and believes
That it's not too late
The girl is little and her hair is so bright
And her cheek is flickering red
The crow is clumsy and croaky black
In a moment it's completely dead
But the girl, she runs for her life
With a wounded bird in her arms
She runs towards safety and warmth
For what is real and true
And she runs with sparkling eyes
She runs on thin legs
Because she thinks it's true, what dad has said:
If there's life it's never too late
And I started to tremble in agony and distress
I shook with fear and terror
Because I knew for sure
That it was a picture of me that I saw
For my hope is a wounded crow
And I'm a running child
That thinks there's someone who help me yet
That thinks there's someone who has the answer
And I run with a pounding heart
I run on thin legs
And I pray and beg, though I actually know
That it is already too late