To walk among inhuman chapels
brings pain to heart and mind.
I see the flock, their eyes diverted,
from what shines from above.
There once was stone so pure and human,
once mined from the depths of the soul;
but those are gone, cold, forgotten,
empty as our reflection.
A flicker within is a monument without,
to stand against all time;
to tower high, from richest soils,
to live and never die.
Those times are gone, but still exist,
though hidden under moss;
the tree, the church, the barn and stable,
their shadows still are cast.
The masses they shall perish, and they shall
turn to dust, while some will tread upon them,
a phoenix, fire, wings of gold,
to carry on again.