Pictures in a Mirror by The Incredible String Band Lyrics
Deep in the hollow jail
Sleeps Lord Randall
The mixed voices speak of bread
And of sheets that were scarlet
And blue are at his head
His heart like a cat drowns in a well
He thinks of all the girls he will not love
He thinks not of the future or of the past
Blue lightning spikes the hills above the sea
Where Kasa's ship sets sail for otherwhere
There stands the chief with gold on his hair
Two fingers thick each link of coiled ore
Speaks to his white skinned wife, she answers not
He hurls his question angry to the gulls
His wife strikes her mouth with a skull-like sound
The bleeding image of her loss revolves above her mind
With every line in its design, an accusing eye
That pierces Kasa's soul
The slaves row on beneath the dragon flags
His heart recoils recall his red-haired son
Beneath the burning walls that he razed down
His wife and he speak not as wine is brought
A cup that seethes like the black blood of wolves
His wife's dagger is hidden in her dress
He drinks joyless to a dark sleep
The gaoler bangs the iron door
Lord Randall wakes in pain
He shakes his shackles
In the beaten gloom
The blood of his wounds is hard as coal
The gaoler leads him out
Upon the blinding bright stair
He feels uneven turf beneath his feet
The priest intones
The sword falls on his neck
The pain is boiling cold
They lay him in the tomb at the break of the day
They close the earthen door upon his clay
The birds are plucking worms from the ground
Their feathers grey as mist on a cloudy morn
Foresters burn branches from the sleeping trees
The white sun turns to stone
My mother lies in her labor nine days long
She called on Saint Bridget in her time
I looked out on the room of my birth
With hangings rich of many strange designs
Nobles stand with their wine cups in the room
Saluting me and she the King's queen
Already I am forgetting who I am
Already I've forgotten who I've been
My mother lifts me up to her huge soft breast
Her nipple like a berry both hard and brown
Her eyes look on me like waves of the sea
And with small lips, the yellow milk I draw
Sleeps Lord Randall
The mixed voices speak of bread
And of sheets that were scarlet
And blue are at his head
His heart like a cat drowns in a well
He thinks of all the girls he will not love
He thinks not of the future or of the past
Blue lightning spikes the hills above the sea
Where Kasa's ship sets sail for otherwhere
There stands the chief with gold on his hair
Two fingers thick each link of coiled ore
Speaks to his white skinned wife, she answers not
He hurls his question angry to the gulls
His wife strikes her mouth with a skull-like sound
The bleeding image of her loss revolves above her mind
With every line in its design, an accusing eye
That pierces Kasa's soul
The slaves row on beneath the dragon flags
His heart recoils recall his red-haired son
Beneath the burning walls that he razed down
His wife and he speak not as wine is brought
A cup that seethes like the black blood of wolves
His wife's dagger is hidden in her dress
He drinks joyless to a dark sleep
The gaoler bangs the iron door
Lord Randall wakes in pain
He shakes his shackles
In the beaten gloom
The blood of his wounds is hard as coal
The gaoler leads him out
Upon the blinding bright stair
He feels uneven turf beneath his feet
The priest intones
The sword falls on his neck
The pain is boiling cold
They lay him in the tomb at the break of the day
They close the earthen door upon his clay
The birds are plucking worms from the ground
Their feathers grey as mist on a cloudy morn
Foresters burn branches from the sleeping trees
The white sun turns to stone
My mother lies in her labor nine days long
She called on Saint Bridget in her time
I looked out on the room of my birth
With hangings rich of many strange designs
Nobles stand with their wine cups in the room
Saluting me and she the King's queen
Already I am forgetting who I am
Already I've forgotten who I've been
My mother lifts me up to her huge soft breast
Her nipple like a berry both hard and brown
Her eyes look on me like waves of the sea
And with small lips, the yellow milk I draw