I’m standing on the cobbles of a debris street <br />It’s written up so high, almost thirty feet <br />Must be as ancient as the ones that baked the clay <br />And it’s lasted there to this very day <br />Stone upon stone upon fallen stone <br />I trip and fall; broken bone <br />Stone upon stone upon fallen stone <br />Streets of grease no sunlight here today <br />I thought I’d left forever when I broke away <br />But here I stand on these streets again <br />It’s written up high I just don’t know when <br />Stone upon stone upon fallen stone <br />The author is unknown <br />Stone upon stone upon fallen stone <br />Old tramlines scar these streets carved into the stones <br />Remnants from a time when glue was made from bones <br />I can almost smell the slaughter in the air <br />The work horse got too old and was skinned for its fine hair <br />Stone upon stone upon fallen stone <br />Just who knocked the king from off his throne? <br />Stone upon stone upon fallen stone <br />Stone upon stone upon fallen stone <br />Stone upon stone upon fallen stone <br />Stone upon stone upon fallen stone<br /><br />Kris Whelan (1971)<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/stone-upon-stone-upon-fallen-stone/
