This is the time (season) of the crows
The nightingales are silent
This is the time of the crows
The moon will not show itself
They are gathering to celebrate
And fight over remains
A dark round dance commences
This is the time of the ravens
The land practices dying
This is the time of the ravens
They are heralding doom
Silently drawing their circles
The wings are beating quietly
A dark round dance commences
This is the time of mists
Of the crows and the ravens
The reapers must mow
And nobody comes to sow
A dark round dance commences