Counting Crows Letra

Six is for the mess that you got me in.
Seven's a secret I can't tell,
Eight's for Heaven and nine's for Hell.
Does anybody out there think it's odd
That they ain't never found a number to pin on God?

She fell in love with a junkyard son from the wrong side of the town,
And she let him deep into her heart before he let her down.
Now she's counting crows as the miles count down, with no idea where she's goin'.
She's the lonely ghost of the empty roads, and a trickster wind is blowin'.

She took his hand on a gimcrack dare and the promise of tomorrow,
And she bartered what she had against what little she could borrow.
Now it's one for sorrow and two for mirth, as she's leaving him behind her.
She's the thornless rose of the silent roads, and she's praying he won't find her.

So count your crows and count them well,
Five's for heaven, and six for hell.
Gather feathers, make your bed,
Find a place to lay your head.
In mercy's shadow, nothing grows,
And she's still running, counting crows.

She was the belle of the backwood ball in her gown of tattered lace,
And they didn't mind her broken heart when they saw her pretty face.
Now it's three for to bury all that you have, and it's four for starting over.
She's the broken dream of the sleepless roads, and she's bound to be a rover.

She gave him all that she had to give, said his name like she was praying,
And of all the promises they made, not a one said she'd be staying.
Now it's five for silver and six for gold, and she's running like a river.
She's the fallen star of the midnight roads, and the heart you can't deliver.

So count your crows and count them clear;
Three's a wedding, there's no bride here.
Count the devil in his turn,
The numbers shift so fast they burn.
In mercy's shadow, nothing grows,
And she's still running, counting crows.

She's had her sorrow, had her joy, and for secrets she has sold them;
She's had her truth and had her lies, and it's willingly she's told them.
Now she's given her heart for a kiss and a dance in the arms of mercy's son.
She's been counting feathers and counting crows, but she can't change what she's done.

So count your crows and count them plain;
When the feathers fly, the rhymes remain.
Count on heaven, count on hell,
Count the secrets you won't tell.
In mercy's shadow, nothing grows,
And she's still running, counting crows.

In mercy's shadow, nothing grows.
You can't count on love, so count your crows.