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