Empty like an ancient tomb,
Temple looms in cloudy skies,
Like omen of impending doom,
Halls echo with the mournful cries,
Beneath the thin and waning moon.
Temple that had once o�er brimmed,
With worshipers in bowed down pose,
Tell, is your failing glory dimmed,
Now that your wound in climbing rose,
And ivy drapes sway in the wind?
Wind screams through the empty rooms,
Keening eerily in the night,
This great temple built high by whom,
That�s so delightful to the sight,
Now none beholds you but the moon.