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