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.