A little song about doing our best for the people we love by letting them be free.
|Keep flying low carrion crow,
it ain't for you to fly that high,
keep flying steady, flying slow,
grazing through the barley and rye.
Keep flying low carrion crow,
don't you take off and reach the sky,
stay with us, let this be your home,
right where the wood and brick collide.
I remember this city girl,
she played an old, rusty guitar,
she wouldn't wear diamonds or pearls
and she spoke country from her heart.
There is a song for everyone,
I like to hum mine to myself,
my stagelight is the rising sun,
the riverside works as my stage.
A woman told me a tale once,
one that I shall never believe,
she claimed the river takes our chants
and casts them all into the sea.
I wonder if truely sad songs
would still make me want to cry,
after they traveled for so long,
far from fields of barley and rye.
Quit flying low, carrion crow,
push us all down and fly high,
embrace the cool wind as it blows,
make wood and brick meet the sky.