"(…) I dreamt I saw you walking up a hillside in the snow
casting shadows on the winter sky as you stood there
counting crows:
one for sorrow, two for joy
three for girls, and four for boys
five for silver, six for gold
and seven for a secret never to be told.
There’s a bird that nests inside you
sleeping underneath your skin,
and when you open up your wings to speak
I wish you’d let me in".
[Adam Duritz, A Murder Of One, 1993]