My Prince, like some wind, may choose this night to ride.
And his good friend, the moon, keeps apace upon his side.
He's got his goal, you know, but he's got no place to go.
No, there is no place in this land where My Prince can hide.
My Prince, like some young tree, grows string-straight and tall.
And his sword, like some sting of steel, may cause his foes to fall.
And I'd follow him to serve, you know, but he's got no place to go.
No, there is no place where My Prince can put his back against the wall.
Yes, My Prince once had his Power and his Place.
And the darkest of all shadows
Could not cull the brilliance of his face,
But his foes beset upon him
And now everything is changed,
His Empire all in ash, his soverignity estranged,
And he has hardened:
My Prince an outlaw riding in his night,
His sword his only manifest of Divine Right--
Yet I have faith that
My Prince, like some god, has his secret and his sign,
Though his secrets may be silent and his reasons may only seem to rhyme,
But the pendulum returns, you know, and his enemies will have no place to go,
Yes, there'll be a retribution when My Prince reveals his temper and his time.
And yes, he's learning everything
That he is ever really going to need to know,
But still I worry, for he's young,
And rather wish that he just had some place to go.
For My Prince, like some Prophet, is thin of thew and bone,
And his body, yet unbroken, yet is loaded down with stone.
He's got his thorn, you know, and he's got no place to go.
No, there is no place where my Prince,
My Young Prince,
can call his home.
Panama City 15 December 1969