The Sun Burns Bright on Blighted Lands

The old gray god is past his time.

The land he ruled has changed its clime.

His city's streets are choked with grime,

And the dust blows.

The old priests chant is heard no more.

The temple gate is an unused door.

The old true faith is gone of yore,

And the dust blows.

The old gray god sits on his throne.

His wise old eyes were only stone.

Brooding still, he sits alone,

And the dust blows.

In his elder days he did dream

Of a land now barren waste

Once gold and honey, and yellow sun

Now gone beyond a trace.

Its cities were great cities

That reached up in the sky,

And its towers were great towers

That stood a thousand meters high.

But the years have turned to eons

And the cities turned to dust.

Those mighty marble towers

Have lost their skyward thrust.

The honey's gone, the gold is gone

The sun burns bright on blighted lands.

And all that's left and all that's real

Are tumbled stones in desert sands.

The old gray god sits on his throne.

His wise old eyes were only stone.

Brooding still, he sits alone,

And the dust blows.