Abacus Cult - The Grave | Текст песни

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The Grave (by Lord Byron)

I stood beside the grave of him who blazed
The comet of a season, and I saw
The humblest of all sepulchres, and gazed
With not the less of sorrow and of awe

On that neglected turf and quiet stone,
With name no clearer than the names unknown,
Which lay unread around it; and I ask'd
The Gardener of that ground, why it might be
That for this plant strangers his memory task'd,
Through the thick deaths of half a century?

Chorus:
You are the fools, not I - for I did dwell
With a deep thought, and with a soften'd eye,
On that Old Sexton's natural advice,
In which there was Obscurity and Fame -­
The Glory and the Nothing of a Name.

I know not what of honour and of light
Through unborn ages, to endure this blight,
So soon, and so successless? As I said,
The Architect of all on which we tread,
For Earth is but a tombstone, did essay,
To extricate remembrance from the clay,

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