The Crow

Black as night,
And pale with fright.
Nothing bright,
To make it right.
It flew up high,
When he decided, "I,
I have to die."
They might cry,
And wodner why,
But life had gone dry.
It was the crow,
That evil foe.
It was It that did it so,
That made him go.
With Its evil hiss,
And grotesque bliss,
It took the kiss.
The kiss that didn't miss.
This kiss of death,
The wretched breath.
The horrible sigh,
Of when he die.
He quickly went,
Not a second spent.
And what happened next,
Was what the Crow had vexed.
The coffin closed,
Death had arosed.
The Crow sat after Its work,
With a disgusting smirk.
Intoxicated with Its latest job,
Another soul had to be robbed.
So, the Crow left Its perch,
With a final lirch.
And was it be?
Its next soul was... me.