A carved oak table
Tells a tale
Of times when kings and queens
Sipped wine from goblets gold
And the brave would lead their ladies
From out the room
To arbours cool

A time of valour
And legends born
A time when honour meant much more
To a man than life
And the days knew only strife
To tell right from wrong
Through lance and sword

Why?
Why?
Can we never be sure till we die
Or have killed for an answer?

Why?
Why?
Do we suffer each race to believe
That no race has been grander?

It seems because
Through time and space
Though 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 grey
That scars the panes

Gone the carving
And those who left their mark
Gone the kings and queens
Now only the rats hold sway
And the weak must die
According to nature's law
As old as they

Why?
Why?
Can we never be sure till we die
Or have killed for an answer?

Why?
Why?
Do we suffer each race to believe
That no race has been grander?

It seems because
Through time and space
Though names may change
Each face retains the mask it wore