Ballad In Plain D

Tom : D
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I once loved a girl, her skin it was bronze
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With the innocence of a lamb, she was gentle like a fawn
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I courted her proudly, but now she is gone
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Gone as the season she's ta--ken.
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In a young summer's youth, I stole her away
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From her mother and sister, though close did they stay
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Each one of them suffering from the failures of their day
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With strings of guilt they tried hard to guide us.
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Of the two sisters, I loved the young
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With sensitive instincts, she was the creative one
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The constant scrapegoat, she was easily undone
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By the jealousy of others around her.
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For her parasite sister, I had no respect
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Bound by her boredom, her pride to protect
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Countless visions of the other she'd reflect
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As a crutch for her scenes and her society.
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Myself, for what I did, I cannot be excused
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The changes I was going through can't even be used
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For the lies that I told her in hopes not to lose
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The could-be dream-lover of my lifetime.
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With unseen consciousness, I possessed in my grip
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A magnificent mantelpiece, though its heart being chipped
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Noticing not that I'd already slipped
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To a sin of love's false security.
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From silhouetted anger to manufactured peace
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Answers of emptiness, voice vacancies
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Till the tombstones of damage read me no question but, "Please
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What's wrong and what's exactly the matter?"
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And so it did happen, like it could have been foreseen
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The timeless explosion of fantasy's dream
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At the peak of the night, the king and the queen
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Tumbled all down into pieces.
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"The tragic figure" her sister did shout
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"Leave her alone, God damn you, get out"
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And I in my armour, turning about
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And nailing her in the ruins of her pettiness.
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Beneath a bare light bulb the plaster did pound
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Her sister and I in a screaming battleground
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And she in between, the victim of sound
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Soon shattered as a child to the shadows.
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All is gone, all is gone, admit it, take flight
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I gagged in contradiction, tears blinding my sight
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My mind it was mangled, I ran into the night
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Leaving all of love's ashes behind me.
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The wind knocks my window, the room it is wet
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The words to say I'm sorry, I haven't found yet
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I think of her often and hope whoever she's met
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Will be fully aware of how precious she is.
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Ah, my friends from the prison, they ask unto me
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"How good, how good does it feel to be free"?
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And I answer them most mysteriously
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"Are birds free from the chains of the skyway"?