Tomb of Life

Don't preach of ruin to the tomb,
It has not reached its zenith yet.
No golden gilding lights the gloom,
For it's by life its stones are set.

No songs have risen to its walls,
No jesters stained its moss with black.
No hands applaud, no echo calls,
There is no turning, no way back.

This grey confession's like the hair
Of ancient mountains of the earth.
A flame that's whiter than the winter's air
Upon a head of noble birth.

Let waterfalls adorn with ice,
And bind the view in frozen chains,
But in the heart, a river's life
With burning fire still remains.

No songs have risen to its walls,
No jesters stained its moss with black.
No hands applaud, no echo calls,
There is no turning, no way back.

This grey confession's like the hair
Of ancient mountains of the earth.
A flame that's whiter than the winter's air
Upon a head of noble birth.

And melts away with time and heat,
Like snow that meets the sun's embrace,
The ancient wisdom of the East
Upon that very noble face...

Life is building...
Don't preach the fall...
Not yet...