If it weren't for the crows in California
There would be no one to scold me
If it weren't for the arms in California
There would be no one to hold me
If I weren't so perfectly old
I would scamper up over these roof-tops
Like in the good young days
But even back then in Toronto's snows
There were beautiful black crows
When everything was clearer larger
And they were minding their own business
Cruising alone above the crystal cove
Little pieces of night that gather
Around me now their California
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