Steamcrow's Insatiable Hunger

Steamcrows coming better clear the street. Smoke in the sky from his

iron heartbeat. From his beak, lightning fire blows. He's a living storm where chaos

grows. Old car tires he loves to chew. Waste oil's his

drink, black as glue. Windmills crumble for his dessert. Steamcrow's hunger cannot

be curbed. Rusty chains rattle like a metal hymn.

Steel toes stomping as the light grows dim. He's got gears for a soul

and fire for breath. The beast of the scrapyard, a dance

with death. Hear the grind, hear the roar. He's hungry now and