The Birds Of St. Marks

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 beneath 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