Many years ago, I was wandering around an ancient Welsh graveyard, sitting beside a mysterious one-thousand-year-old castle. Tombstones jutting out everywhere amidst the wild grass and fragrant wild flowers. One stone in particular stood out to me. I sat in the garden of the dead and imagined what may have happened long ago.
Names upon a stone, standing still
They scream in dark light, hollow sounds
Wicked games they played in the winter chill
And pierced the city walls tonight
In this old world, time is standing still
Chains around a chair, ring on the floor
Burned to the ground, bright as dawn
Riches betrayed, knowledge decayed
And breeched the royal halls, tonight
In this old world, time is standing still
Once upon a time, in a distant story
Vanishing faces one by one
Marching to the drum of a little revenge
And never to be seen when the time has come
In this old world, time is standing still
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