作词 : Thomas Bower
Old crow in the sycamore, your time's unwinding.
I don't know you anymore, the moonlight's blinding.
The snow kept us indoors, my leg still hurts in the winter,
I adored the style of the time, but I ignored it after the season.

Skin crawls and my eyes twitch, tongue swollen and my lungs black,
I hope we find a decision, before we're all burned in the friction.
I've seen three score and one years, and I hope that I'll see the same again.
I believe the world is in descent, but I no longer feel the same urge to leave it.
Hope's still calling you.

I wrote a letter in blue ink, and I've written it over and over again.
I hope that you never read it when I can't explain the way that I'm feeling.
Old crow in the sycamore, your time's unwinding.

I hope that it's not the end for us, but I can't keep myself creeping and hiding.