Dha Kro’z Ov Al-bi-an

(Tak’n frum ‘Dha Book Ov Kro’z’)

Koww Koww Koww
Wit wich hurd mi ple -
Kum down in hur
sno dres fin’ery.

Koww Koww Koww
“Giv mi vois”, sez I,
“For Kro iz sik ov
ra’ging at gray ski”

Koww Koww Koww
“I wish mi song be hurd,
tune’ful as a
prit’i lit’l burd”
 
“No, No”, sa she
“Nev’ar such a thing -
for u ar blak ov hart -
as blak of wing”

“I se u on dha batt’lefield,
bek blud’y red,
tugg’ing at dha en’tralz
ov dha ded”

“O kar’i-an kro
u doo not on a sol
so I kan’at grant yor wish
and mak u hol”

Koww Koww Koww
Wich ter’z fol lik ran
fil’ing dha riv’ars,
nur’ishing dha gran.

Koww Koww Koww
Un’dar dha Al-bi-an moon -
wil kro krok owt
dhar hag ri-strik-ted tun.

Koww Koww Koww
Poor Kro stil haz no vois -
hiz wurdz a wich’ez kurs,
nev’ar hiz chois.

[Trans-lat’d in’too Al-bi-an Spek for dhoz fok dhat hav far-got’n KroTung]
[Translated into Albion Speak for those folk that have forgotten Crow Tongue]

The Crows Of Albion

(Taken from ‘The Book Of Crows’)

Koww Koww Koww
White witch heard my plea -
Come down in her
snow dress Finery.

Koww Koww Koww
“Give me voice”, says I,
“For Crow is sick of
Raging at grey sky”

Koww Koww Koww
“I wish my song be heard,
tuneful as a
pretty little bird”

 “No, No”, say she,
 “Never such a thing -
for you are black of heart -
as black of wing”

“I see you on the battlefield,
beak bloody red,
tugging at the entrails
of the dead”

“Oh Carrion crow
you do not own a soul
so I cannot grant your wish
and make you whole”

Koww Koww Koww
Witch tears fall like rain
filling the rivers,
nourishing the grain

Koww Koww Koww
Under the Albion moon -
while Crow croak out
their hag restricted tune.

Koww Koww Koww
Poor Crow still has no voice -
his words, a witches curse,
never his choice.