Deserts that have formed over the heads of kings
Like the callous that can form around the eye
Gifts of deletion and of times great affection
The breath of Eliane sees us reaching for the sky
The Megalith has aged and we morn her
Tears in longing that will never touch our palms
Now we must use her in shelter and hiding
Terrified at what will be left when the storm calms
And the living maybe they shall know silence
And the dead maybe they will know peace
As Death himself will lie on a bed of dark eternity
As one-by-one the lights from the stars that reach us cease
