I see ahead a field
a mighty noisy gray
with not a place to sleep

Biding in the storm
the drought has worn my eyes
and mighty I should weep

Shoulders mine are sore
empty but for life
This stone, a piece of clay
must sharpen soon my knife

And I have seen the camps
of brigands in this court
their tales unsung by bards

Here once did rule a king
whose law, then widely known
is timeworn in its shards

The river has run dry
the lake has gone to rest
Yes, rivers they run dry
Is that for the best?

Man of cinder, man of gold
Dreadnought, hold thine breath
Man of ashes, man of tears
This age is growing old
Oh, words are growing old

Roads were paved in dirt
Concrete ever sealed
what footstes did remain

My ink may soon run out
but such has been the price
of each and every saint

Men have come and gone
Men, they come and go
Their worried eyes are telling
of nothing that I know

Man of cinder, man of gold
What can one do but wait?
Man of ashes, man of tears
These ruins are so deep
Yes, they are far too deep