There's a black horse in a photograph His mane blows in your face There's a black horse in a photograph His mane blows in your face Your eyes are hidden Will you be taken away Black and white feathers blow across the lawn Black and white feathers blow across the lawn The dogs are sleeping on them The scaffold is already done We're hiding in the hills The rope hasn't snapped yet Feel like I could live forever Forever hasn't happened yet The shadow of blackbirds As many as in a pie The shadow of blackbirds As many as baked in a pie Passes over your burning head As you prepare to die