Time Table

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 of 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.