(原詩)

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

(interlude)

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