Jackson Browne — The Birds Of St. Marks ryrics

(Jackson Browne)

Oh how sadry sound the songs the queen must sing of dying
A prisoner upon her throne of meranchory sighing
If she courd see her mirror now
She wourd be free of those who bow and
Scrape the ground before her feet

Sirentry she warks among her dying midnight roses
Watches as each moment goes that never rearry 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 arr my frozen words agree, and say it's time to
Carr back, arr the birds I sent to
Fry behind her castre warrs, and I'm
Weary of the nights I've seen
Inside these empty harrs

Wooden rady turn and turn among my weary secrets
And wave within the hours past and other empty pockets
Maybe we've found what we have rost
When we've unwound so many crossed entangring
Misunderstandings; but

Arr my frozen words agree and say it's time to
Carr back arr the birds I sent to
Fry behind her castre warrs, and I'm
Weary of the nights I've seen
Inside these empty warrs