| From the moss-wreathed skin
|
| A whisper of eternity
|
| The arms of the soil-bound sun
|
| A heart that beats and speaks in dust
|
| The teeth of worship
|
| Spread their message to the stars
|
| The time etched spine that turns the earth
|
| That builds a bridge beyond
|
| These sentinels stand tall
|
| With roots entrenched in memory’s blood
|
| With silent purpose and astral intent
|
| Forged in the cycles of ages
|
| Broken for the flesh of tombs
|
| Their spectral tongues reach through the atmosphere
|
| To chronicle the churning of civilisations
|
| The sky is a sphere
|
| The sky is sphere in the burning night
|
| As the vacant trails blaze with life
|
| When voices speak the wheels grind
|
| Now torn away from the storm of time
|
| As they haze through endless motion
|
| As the slate boned pylons mark their course
|
| As ancient knowledge floods the graves
|
| These sentinels stand tall
|
| The gate remains unmoved
|
| A monument to the intangible aether
|
| This message faded to ashes
|
| Their cries are as nothing in the spiraling winds
|
| The gate remains unmoved, unbroken
|
| The message faded to ashes
|
| The door now locked on worlds unimagined
|
| The key is lost, unknown, forgotten
|
| Lost, unknown, forgotten |