Time table
A carved oak table,Tells a taleOf times when kings and queens sipped wine from goblets gold,And the brave would lead their ladies from out of the roomto arbours cool.
A time of valour, and legends born,A time when honour meant much more to a man than lifeAnd the days knew only strife to tell right from wrongThrough lance and sword.
Why, why can we never be sure till we dieOr have killed for an answer.Why, why do we suffer each race to believeThat no race has been grander.It seems because through time and spaceThough names may change each face retains the mask it wore.
A dusty table,Musty smells,Tarnished silver lies discarded upon the floor.Only feeble light descends through a film of greyThat scars the panes.Gone the carving,And those who left their mark,Gone the kings and queens now only the rats hold swayAnd the weak must die according to nature's lawAs old as they.
Why, why can we never be sure till we dieOr have killed for an answer,Why, why do we suffer each race to believeThat no race has been granderIt seems because through time and spaceThough names may change each face retains the mask it wore.