Counting Crows

The days they blur together
And the months, they turn to gold
And it's just an ordinary morning
When you're sitting counting crows

One for sorrow
Two for joy
Three for girls
Four for boys
Five for silver
Six for gold
Seven for a secret never to be told

You've got seven pecking
At your heart
So can't you spread your wings
And let them fly?

We are feathered by the babbling brook
We are feathered by our tragic sighs
We are feathered by the whispers
We are fathered by the moonlight

And sometime another little girl
Will sit beneath the tall oak tree
Wearing her youth like a badge
That tarnishes all too soon
And she will be counting...

One for sorrow
Two for joy
Three for girls
Four for boys
Five for silver
Six for gold
Seven for a secret never to be told