Their guns must mash us to the mire and there be no replying,
Till the hand is raised to fling us for the final dice to death.
Till the hand is raised to fling us for the final dice to death.
"There were two windows in your tower,
Barbara, Barbara,
For all between the sun and moon
In the lands of Africa.
Barbara, Barbara,
For all between the sun and moon
In the lands of Africa.
Hath a man three eyes, Barbara,
A bird three wings,
That you have riven roof and wall
To look upon vain things?"
A bird three wings,
That you have riven roof and wall
To look upon vain things?"
Her voice was like a wandering thing
That falters yet is free,
Whose soul has drunk in a distant land
Of the rivers of liberty.
That falters yet is free,
Whose soul has drunk in a distant land
Of the rivers of liberty.
"There are more wings than the wind knows
Or eyes than see the sun
In the light of the lost window
And the wind of the doors undone.
Or eyes than see the sun
In the light of the lost window
And the wind of the doors undone.
5
