TWO TOWERS
The short end of time, that
thing you were left holding -
remember, it's yours and it's
already shortening up. Hold on,
or it's taken away and you know
it not. Two towers there are,
in town and city. I see them.
One bears the brunt of infraction
and age - it crumbles along the
banks of the old running river - while
the other, proudly bearing something
still, like a bawdy poet prancing by,
stands straight and stiff across from
Mt. Beacon, which is where I see it
now, which is where I see it now.
The short end of time, that
thing you were left holding -
remember, it's yours and it's
already shortening up. Hold on,
or it's taken away and you know
it not. Two towers there are,
in town and city. I see them.
One bears the brunt of infraction
and age - it crumbles along the
banks of the old running river - while
the other, proudly bearing something
still, like a bawdy poet prancing by,
stands straight and stiff across from
Mt. Beacon, which is where I see it
now, which is where I see it now.
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