When I Can't Do Anything Else

Crows and Doves

Don't let the crows perch upon your shoulders;

It'll weigh you down, burying you under the earth,
Until your rotten flesh get salvaged by their insufferable beaks of hunger,

Wait for the doves and the swans to nestle;

They won't come plenty in numbers,
But you'll feel the change of weight in your shoulders; buoyant, free, and in bliss

Let them take to you the clouds, //k.u.