The City in the Sea / Shadow - Lou Reed

In a strange city

Alone

Death has reared himself a throne

In a strange city

Alone

Their shrines and palaces are not like ours

They do not tremble and rot

Eaten with time

Death has reared himself a throne

Lifted by forgotten winds

Resignedly beneath the sky

The melancholy waters lie

A crown of stars

In a strange city

Alone

A heaven God does not condemn

But the everlasting shadow

Makes mockery of it all

No holy rays come down

Lights from the lurid deep sea

Stream up the turrets silently

Up thrones, up arbors

Of sculpted ivy and stone flowers

Up domes, up spires

Kingly halls all are melancholy shrines

The columns, frieze and entablature

Chokingly shockingly intertwined

The mast the viol and the vine

Twisted

There amid no earthly moans

Hell rises from a thousand thrones

Does reverence to death

And death does give his undivided time

There are open temples

And graves on a level with the waves

Death looms and looks

Huge

Gigantic

There is a ripple

Now a wave

Towers thrown aside

Sinking in the dull tide

The waves glowing redder

The very hours losing their breath

All the cunning stars

Watching fitfully over night after night of

Matchless … sleep

Matched only with the whole of dream …

The tell-tale beating of the heart

The … breath

The desire, the pose

One poses upon the precipice

To fall to run to dive to tumble to fall down

Down into the spiral down and then

One sees one’s own death

One sees one committing murder or atrocious violent acts

And then across the shadow

Not of man or God

But the shadow resting upon the brazen doorway

There were seven of us there

Who saw the shadow as it came out from among the draperies

But we did not dare behold it

We looked down into the depths of the mirror of ebony

And the apparition spoke

«I am a shadow

And I dwell in the catacombs

Which border

The country of illusion

Hard by the dim plains of wishing»

And then did we start shuddering

Starting from our seats

Trembling

For the tones in the voice of the shadow

Were not the tones of any one man

But of a multitude of beings

And varying in their cadences

From syllable to syllable

Fell duskily upon our ears in the well

Remembered and familiar accents

Of a thousand departed friends