Myth Of Abdul

Here the elders are weeping in the old courts of laughter

Spilling tears on velvet; tears spun from dew; draped from the lace

Where the elders are weeping

Come, come see for yourself

When the raven's wings are beating, where the harlequin sleeps

And the old play is pleading under dark, cold raining skies

Beneath the old courts of laughter

Come, come see for yourself

And the wise men speak while the raven's wings beat

And a cold raining sky

And a harlequin sleeps where the old players plead

Under dark, cold raining skies