"STONE AND WOOD"
Written in the 11th century church in my village of Gnosall in Staffordshire, England.

Here in the quiet parish church
I sit alone and gently search
For the souls of those who's need
Was the seed for all I saw
Puzzled by their lonely lives
They took their axes and their knives
Etched their hope, carved their dream
To make it seem they understood

Chorus
Stone and wood, wood and stone
Candles lit by those alone
Coloured glass, whispered word
Do they pass unheard, unheard

Here in their rows on Sunday morn
On benches that their backs had worn
They sang the hymn, the chanted tune
That told them soon, so very soon
Bended knee their burden's rest
Cup of wine, the wafer blessed
Solemn prayer, the last Amen
Then once again into the light

Seasons round and round again
Young man's lust to old man's pain
Young maid's sweet to old maid's sour
Till the final hour ahead
In the churchyard here they lie
They know the answer now, but I,
I sit here and listen still
And always will, until, until