Castle black; of ashes
Burning on a swamp of fire
withholding self-
And 'em stones and saphire
One fall a thousand feet
Lies in ruin a temple and shire
A Priest rests in grave
Breathing smoke from the pyre
His eyes closed-
Wearing a face of gold
In his wake lies the tomb
Of years young and old
With a tear he awakes
To witness a weather so cold
Wither and then he aches
With the dread one beholds.
In shadow he awaits
For the need of a blue sky
Morrow might not breed
But the yesterday never dies
He grieves of the martyred
And enemies who pry
The key is painted beyond
And the door is kept nigh
Dark walks through the surface
Falling on this ragged terrain
Wearing a cape of silver
In moon-light it glitters again
As holy clouds eat the stars
Scars tear open for a rain
Written in stone; a tale
That no one but one can claim
Hanging by a cliffs name
A potrait clings to a thread
Gave birth to the wind
When the river took a breath
Now the ancient lies cold
And the mourner dead
Distance that divided
Consumed the steps those led
Castle black; of ashes
Burning on a swamp of fire
withholding self-
And 'em clocks and saphire
Whence the priest is dead
Avenged by the sire
Embers would breathe again
From the tears of the pyre
To forever walk in a circle
Of a fool and a liar
All that is must be gone
And be born again-
From the depth of the pyre