Stones... Grey stones under a baking sun...
Silent witnesses of passed away days.
Fine send falling through my fingers,
Like drops of the hot dry tears...
Drowsy silence and only sorrowful
Wind, singing its songs...
just the rustling of sand, its quiet whisper
Low voice of old the Past.

Half-demolished and hid, almost covered with send.
And its name there is not in no most ancient lore.
Nowhere time is mentioned up, when it was full of life.
When its powerful walls rose in bottomless skies.

I feel the curse, excessive burden,
Which bear these ruins, I feel the fear
Given by it off, repeling me
Away, impressing me by darksome augury.

Here congealed the Past is proceed from each stone
From whatever I'm touch, experiencing awe
Like in endless sleep I'm strolling in the same
Place, where city was rose with its forgotten name.

Stones, grey stones under a baking sun...
Mysteries, which they to keep
Will die with them and let know nothing
'Bout their visions in mortal sleep...
I think, in idle world people forgot their Gods
Sacred altars were profaned...
No, they couldn't die, Gods are immortal
They fell asleep till date...

As if in magic haze, I sea a river named Age
And implacable waves of oblivion are running
Over shores of Life where's a man like a grain
In unstead world with its endless ways.

I see rejected Gods, I feel their curse
Ancient as earth itself the city had lost
Like both the Sun and the Wind destroying the Stones
Exactly time erasing the Memory.

Half-demolished and hid almost covered with send
And its name there is not in no most ancient lore
Like in endless sleep I'm strolling in the same
Place where city was rose with its forgotten name
Forever...

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