Blue textures cascade downward to the base of the monolith Like brush strokes on a canvas of souls Two arms reach out a cloak of silent nihil Revenants untouched by the scythe They are lost in the dark woods of time Aloft in the landscape that you hail I am the fog that seeps over here in the early hours Standing proud in the hollow of the land A vestige of deeper purity etched in spirit agaisnt the sky The menhir had runes carved in limbs of oaken sovereignty and could see the ages growing from within the palms I can feel the era slipping into oblivion, no longer grasping the textures I am slowly becoming stone As wolves celebrate the dusk, an old voice of wisdom haunts the vale Shapes flicker in the fire light through the windows The woodlands burn with grace Their silence drowns the age As wandering ghosts pass through the flames A new age of rebirth lights the dawn But who are they who pass by the window? The shapes; like black solar wheels scorched in the snow by gods of the stone... This elder stone shall never fall! Cast the aeons into the void So that no other can seek them No age, no hands shall taint them Pour the sorrows into the sun They are lost forever in dark woods of time Carve the symbols into the stone So that another can find them No age, no hands shall change them Pour the ages into the sun They are lost forever in the dark woods of time
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