The Birds of St. Marks

Oh how sad they sound the songs the queen must sing of dying

The prisoner upon her throne of melancholy sighing

If she could see her mirror now

She would be free of those who bow

And scrape the ground beneath her feet

Silently she walks among her dying midnight roses

And watches as each moment goes that never really know us

And so it seems she doesn't care

If she has dreams of no one there

Within the shadows of her room

But all my frozen words agree, and say it's time

To call back, all the birds I sent to

Fly behind her castle walls

And I'm weary of the nights I've seen

Inside these empty halls

Wooden lady turn and turn among my weary secrets

And wave within the hours past and other empty pockets

Maybe we've found what we have lost

When we've unwound so many crossed

Entangling misunderstandings

But all my frozen words agree and say it's time

To call back all the birds I sent to

Fly behind her castle walls

And I'm weary of the nights I've seen

Inside these empty halls