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[ti:Changing Of The Guards] |
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[ar:Bob Dylan] |
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[al:Dylan] |
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[offset:0] |
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Sixteen years, |
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Sixteen banners united over the field |
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Where the good shepherd grieves |
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Desperate men, desperate women divided |
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Spreading their wings neath the falling leaves |
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Fortune calls |
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I stepped forth from the shadows, to the marketplace |
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Merchants and thieves |
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hungry for power, my last deal gone down |
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She's smelling sweet like the meadows where she was born |
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On midsummers eve, near the tower |
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The cold-blooded moon |
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The captain waits above the celebration |
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Sending his thoughts to a beloved maid |
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Whose ebony face is beyond communication |
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The captain is down but still believing that his love will be repaid |
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They shaved her head |
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She was torn between jupiter and apollo |
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A messenger arrived with a black nightingale |
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I seen her on the stairs and I couldnt help but follow |
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Follow her down past the fountain where they lifted her veil |
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I stumbled to my feet |
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I rode past destruction in the ditches |
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With the stitches still mending neath a heart-shaped tattoo |
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Renegade priests and treacherous young witches |
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Were handing out the flowers that i'd given to you |
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The palace of mirrors |
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Where dog soldiers are reflected |
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The endless road and the wailing of chimes |
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The empty rooms where her memory is protected |
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Where the angels voices whisper to the souls of previous times |
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She wakes him up |
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Forty-eight hours later, the sun is breaking |
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Near broken chains, mountain laurel and rolling rocks |
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Shes begging to know what measures he now will be taking |
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he's pulling her down and shes clutching on to his long golden locks |
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Gentlemen, he said |
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I don't need your organization, I've shined your shoes |
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I've moved your mountains and marked your cards |
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But eden is burning, either brace yourself for elimination |
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Or else your hearts must have the courage for the changing of the guards |
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Peace will come |
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With tranquility and splendor on the wheels of fire |
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But will bring us no reward when her false idols fall |
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And cruel death surrenders with it's pale ghost retreating |
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Between the king and the queen of swords |
