The Decemberists – Constantinople (Ukulele)

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O the minarets of Constantinople

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Are plated gold, ivory, and opal

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Their cupolas all onion domed and light.

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And the magistrate of Constantinople

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Has made a match; his family was hopeful

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Their daughter would be promised a wedding night.

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But the Sultan's weary bride, she won't be wed tonight

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Nor fall beneath a canopy to lie

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For far across the town, her lover now is drowned

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And painted by the Bosporus in blue

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And there's nothing for a broken heart to do.

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Down the dirty streets of Constantinople

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The beggars weep, their hands all wide open

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Their severed leper limbs all swing and sway.

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At a windowsill in Constantinople

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Our Hero sighs to melodies noteful

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And gazes on the walls that hold his love.

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But the Sultan's weary bride, she won't be wed tonight

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Nor fall beneath a canopy to lie

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For far across the town, her lover now is drowned

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And painted by the Bosporus in blue

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And there's nothing for a broken heart to do.

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No, there's nothing for a broken heart to do.

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Except cry.