I smell,
the mystery in the air
it's ripe I pluck my hair
where priests have trodden
my feet do me bother
I've come from so far
to witness the old cult bizar
it;s ancient not Greek
you'll find weird signs
at a certain stage of the sun
will show you where to find
what is written down on the
stones of old
they don't grow cold
they're full of fire
for the first time Earth
discovered life they
learned to survive
they were learned those men
that build Stonehenge
it's little things that show
a butterfly not on the wing
carved in stone Stonhenge
his home, centuries past
it still lasts
there's no heaven
for the butterfly to roam
it will stay carved in the
old ways
it never moved
the priests of old
wouldn't approve
its magic is still around
even now the spell is cast
and men is bound
(c) JR.
