Constantinople

O, the minarets of Constantinople
Are plated gold, ivory and opal
Their cupolas all onion domed and light
And the magistrate of Constantinople
Has made a match; his family was hopeful
Their daughter would be promised a wedding night
But the Sultan’s weary bride, she won’t be wed tonight
Nor fall beneath a canopy to lie
For far across the town, her lover’s lying drowned
And painted by the Bosporus in blue
And there’s nothing for a broken heart to do
Down the dirty streets of Constantinople
The beggars weep, their hands all wide open
Their severed leper limbs all swing and sway
At a windowsill in Constantinople
Our Hero sighs to melodies noteful
And gazes on the walls that hold his love
But the Sultan’s weary bride, she won’t be wed tonight
Nor fall beneath a canopy to lie
For far across the town, her lover now is drowned
And painted by the Bosporus in blue
And there’s nothing for a broken heart to do
No, there’s nothing for a broken heart to do
Except cry