The Birds Of St. Marks - Jackson Browne (杰克逊·布朗)

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