| Pretty as a lady calling
|
| For her pink and midnight lover
|
| As she stares into the water
|
| And a yellow moon is rising
|
| And there can’t be no disguising
|
| That the pretty bird is dying
|
| With a silver arrow lying at its side
|
| Rivers of blood, oceans of tears
|
| Life without death and death without reason
|
| To the whole United Nations
|
| To your greatest expectations
|
| To the moment that you realize
|
| As a dark figure slips from out of the shadow
|
| Pretty bird closes its eyes
|
| Pretty bird dies
|
| Another pretty thing dead on the end of the shaft
|
| Of the Zen Archer
|
| A man in parts forgotten
|
| With an outlook that is rotten
|
| And an attitude to match it
|
| Finds relief inside a hatchet
|
| And he halved someone in Boulder
|
| Justifiability is in
|
| The hands of the beholder
|
| And you just don’t know
|
| What people will do next
|
| Mountains of pain, valleys of love
|
| Death without life and life without meaning
|
| To the promise kept and broken
|
| To the love that’s never spoken
|
| Just as surely as I’m in your ears
|
| A dark figure slips from out of the shadow
|
| Pretty bird closes its eyes
|
| Pretty bird dies
|
| Another pretty thing dead on the end of the shaft
|
| Of the Zen Archer |