Beneath a blackened skyBeneath a blackened skyBeneath a blackened skyOn top of a structureA half-mile highAround vast swarms of crows do flockA world of iron and glass, of pipes and blocks.Winds blow and rain fallsThough most feel safe and warm indoorsSome reject the constraints of a steel mazeOf rules and walls,But still they remainAfraid to roam, to ever leaveTheir guarded homesWhen the skies are blackAnd the ground is whiteWith a hundred thousand crows in sight