Beautiful Ravens, eyes beady black as your glossy wings, sing beneath the howling moon with caws that crackle like fire. Shiny beasts full of miracle and wonder – the children of forbidden dimensions emerge from sleep with the power to dream. You can will worlds into being and collapse the infinite into sentences. You know the secrets of the songs and have reveled in the glory of flight. Don’t let those straight people take your eyes – you’ve seen things they never will. Don’t let them clip your wings; they won’t be happy until everyone is wading through the same dirt they do.
Those that bow their heads before the Sky God can only see the ground before them. They get crooked necks and limited horizons; better to nurture something sacred within. They will call that profane, they’ll call you vain, they’ll call it wicked sin, but you should never bend before the hollow men – those scarecrows who possess no hearts and straw for brains.
You came from the land of spirits to capture both the sun and moon. Your stones created the world before man were ever born. Your bloody beaks cleave the strong from the weak – you brought the light to the ungrateful ones who stone you and chafe you with their binding rods. You owe nothing now to those who have neither wings nor beaks.