Late last night, about a quarter to twelve   In the middle of an awful storm   I took fright at the terrible sight   Of a raven flying into my room   My blood ran cold, my heart stood still   As I pulled the covers over my head   A minute dragged by as I opened my eyes up   To find her at the end of my bed   Then she spoke in a devilish croak   About herself being one of a score   And I felt sick at the very idea   Of dealing with nineteen more   She said, "look out your window"   I see a skyfull, I pull a rifle on them all.   Pink sunrise in the wintry skies   All warm on the wings of a dove   She sinks and lands on the back of my hand   And sings with the voice of love...   "Thoughts made flesh can be beautiful things   As I am one of the same,   Fed so well on the best of your dreams   And the beauty found within   But those black beasts that you see in the east   Are scratching on the orchard floor   At split, sweet fruits and the writhing worms   That you keep behind the straining door   Go to the cellar!   I see the beasts and they're eating   Feasting on it".   Fill my head with small white flowers   Help the sweetness heal the sour   Draw on high religious power   Free the ravens from the tower.