Ballad in Plain D

I once loved a girl, her skin, it was bronze

With the innocence of a lamb, she was gentle like a fawn

I courted her proudly, but now she is gone

Gone as the season she's taken

In a young summer's youth I stole her away

From her mother and sister, though close did they stay

Each one of them suffering from the failures of their day

With strings of guilt they tried hard to guide us

Of the two sisters, I loved the young

With sensitive instincts, she was the creative one

The constant scrapegoat, she was easily undone

By the jealousy of others around her

For her parasite sister I had no respect

Bound by her boredom, her pride to protect

Countless visions of the other she'd reflect

As a crutch for her scenes and her society

Myself, for what I did, I cannot be excused

The changes I was going through can't even be used

For the lies that I told her in hope not to lose

The could-be dream-lover of my lifetime

With unseen consciousness, I possessed in my grip

A magnificent mantelpiece, though its heart being chipped

Noticing not that I'd already slipped

To the sin of love's false security

From silhouetted anger to manufactured peace

Answers of emptiness, voice vacancies

Till the tombstones of damage read no questions but

"Please, what's wrong? What's exactly the matter?"

And so it did happen like it could have been foreseen

The timeless explosion of fantasy's dream

At the peak of the night, the king and the queen

Tumbled all down into pieces

"The tragic figure" her sister did shout

"Leave her alone, God damn you, get out"

And I, in my armor, turning about

And nailing her in the ruins of her pettiness

Beneath a bare light bulb, the plaster did pound

Her sister and I in a screaming battleground

And she in between, the victim of sound

Soon shattered as a child to the shadows

All is gone, all is gone, admit it, take flight

I gagged in contradiction, tears blinding my sight

My mind, it was mangled, I ran into the night

Leaving all of love's ashes behind me

The wind knocks my window, the room it is wet

The words to say I'm sorry I haven't found yet

I think of her often and hope whoever she's met

Will be fully aware of how precious she is

Ah, my friends from the prison, they ask unto me

"How good, how good does it feel to be free?"

And I answer them most mysteriously

"Are birds free from the chains of the skyway?"