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