Lyrics
The Old King
- by David Elias
Hear them cheering for your dying day
See them wipe your feet with dust and clay
Never mind the near ones where they lay
Memories of clear ones there they stay
There they stay
Hear them clear away your open grave
Watch them lower you down into place
Night will pass eternal into space
While the sun burns coins laid on your face
On your face
Consciousness returns to summer’s eyes
Windmills spin their patterns through the skies
Heavy air returns to times gone by
No one meets your gaze or even tries
Even tries
Crows in pairs are sentries to your doom
Watchers of the seeds you plant too soon
Blackening the sky they leave no room
For the sun to shine down on your tomb
On your tomb
