Thursday, November the 25th, 2004

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My Little Blind Crow

So there I was, kneading dough, thinking about Edgar Allan Poe, and my heart fit to burst about my little blind crow. The moon was full and it cast a glow. Santa in the chimney said “Ho ho ho”. I wept hot tears for my little blind crow. The wind doth howl, the gale doth blow. They used to call Stalin “Uncle Joe”, but Stalin never sobbed all night for my little blind crow. Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. Brother, can you spare a dime? Sister, are you too crumpled with woe when you think about my little blind crow? They say that Stalin's five-year plans made Russia strong. But that has nothing to do with my song. I want it set to music by Status Quo. A sad, sad song for my little blind crow.