where the smoke is hanging still
Like an echo of an age long forgotten
There's a story of a home crushed be
neath those blackened stones
And the roof that fell before
Seems old Darby loved his wife
and he labored all his life
To provide her with materi
And he built for her a home of the
Oh it took three hundred days for
And the silhouette was seen
And the gables reached as high
But it only took one night to bring it down when Darby's
castle tumbled to the ground
Though they shared the common bed
there was precious little said
In the mo ments that were
For his busy dreams were filled
with the rooms he'd yet to build
Then one night he heard the sound
as he laid his pencil down
And he traced it to her door
And the pale light of the moon through
Oh it took three hundred days
