The Citadel

A citadel perhaps Of shadows only Making walls from the thoughts Of disembodied men Each satrap Anxious with its own platform Does not feel for us at all I could speak to your heart Reposed in a dungeon there Standing on the shoulders Of the crowd I cried Into the mountain of silence The voice becomes Outside the shadows impenetrable wall You are not our king again Yet excoriated by pain Know it feels the worse When love through the body makes its course You look so silly now Talking without the music in your voice And soon the buzzards shall rejoice Yes, I can still believe In golden mornings and angels bright Serenading the king of light And this fancy that we weave Shall bleed me no more tonight The citadel is dark and cold It's shadow is a pity to behold.