where the smoke is hanging still
There's a story of a home crushed be
neath those blackened stones
be fore the beams were rotten
Cecil Darby loved his wife
And he labored all his life
To provide her with material
And he built for her a home
Of the finest wood and stone
An d it took three hundred days
for the timbers to be raised,
And the silhouette was seen
And the gables reached as high
But it only took one night
When Darby's castle tumbled
Though they shared a common bed,
there was precious little said,
All his busy dreams were filled
With the rooms he'd yet to build
Then one night he heard a sound
As he laid his pencil down
And he traced it to her door
And the pale light of the moon
Through the window of the room
where two bodies lay entangled
And it took three hundred days
For the timbers to be raised
And the silhouette was seen
And the cables reached as high
But it only took one night
4.7
