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People often now stand and stare and wonder who could they be
That would leave such a lasting tribute to their lives
But they never look down in the undergrowth at the pile of broken stone
Or spare a thought for all the young men who have died
Ruined chapels and neglected graves have masked the truth for years
Only mangled limbs bear witness to their pain
Their lord and masters pampered lives are marked by a granite tomb
But in death the bones will always look the same
The hooves of black plumed horses are silent on the cobbled streets
And a rusty lock secures the cemetery gates
The age is long since dead and gone when they ruled in our domain
All that's left are these sentinels of hate
Stone and marble pillars reaching higher
Pointing ever upward to the skies
Looking down on the rank and file beneath them in the cold dark ground
As they'd done throughout their selfish lives
All through there lives
Evening falls to cast shadows ever longer
To slowly move across each soul again
As if to say look up to me I'm still your master as I'll always be
Even in death our roles are still the same
They haven't changed
Ashes down to ashes
Dust down to dust
It was the children born with a silver spoon and dealt the kind hand of fate
Created these monoliths to power
Built these sentinels of hate
Their pious names cut deep into the marble
Clear for all to see down though the years
The means to their success lies buried in crumbling vaults with broken headstones
No reflection left of all the tears
Shed down the years
