Blue textures cascade downward to the base of the monolith
Like [bad word] 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
vestige of deeper purity etched in spirit against the sky

The menhir [bad word] 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 [bad word] 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
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