See the ruin on the hill where the smoke is hanging still
|
Like an echo of an age long forgotten
|
There's a story of a home crushed beneath those blackened stones
|
And the roof that fell before the beams were rotten
|
Seems old Darby loved his wife and he labored all his life
|
To provide her with material possessions
|
And he built for her a home of the finest wood and stone
|
And the building soon became his sole obsession
|
Oh it took three hundred days for the timbers to be raised
|
And the silhouette was seen for miles around
|
And the gables reached as high as the eagles in the sky
|
But it only took one night to bring it down when Darby's castle tumbled to the ground
|
[ ac.guitar ]
|
Though they shared the common bed there was precious little said
|
In the moments that were set aside for sleeping
|
For his busy dreams were filled with the rooms he'd yet to build
|
And he never heard young Helen Darby weeping
|
Then one night he heard the sound as he laid his pencil down
|
And he traced it to her door and turned the handle
|
And the pale light of the moon through the window of the room
|
Split the shadows where two bodies lay in tangle
|
Oh it took three hundred days...
|
|
-----------------
|
Darby's Castle
|
| Roger Miller |
