The river swirls,
the wind blows,
gray rats scurry over broken tile,
what prince long ago,
built the palace standing a long the cliff?
there are green ghost fires in the black rooms,
they are from the past,
the scattered pavements are all washed away,
ten thousand pipes whispered and roared,
the storm scatters the red Autumn leaves,
his dancing girls are yellow dust, their
painted cheeks have crumbled away,
his golden Charlot's and courtiers are gone,
only one stoned horse is left for his glory,
the future slips away,
who can say what the years will bring?
