The Birds Of St. Marks - Jackson Browne

Oh how sadly sound the songs the queen must sing of dying

A 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 before her feet

Silently she walks among her dying midnight roses

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 walls