In a churchyard grey and overgrown Where rooks perch upon the headstones And cry in cracked and mocking tones for no one The mourners clad in black and lace File through this God forsaken place To lay to rest their master's mortal husk Dust to dust, last of his line With all the ritual of his time Walled within the vault for centuries Beneath the dying sun Still the rooks cry for no one When the mourners file away The black, plumed horse drawn hearse will stay Until the undertakers have drunk their fill Beneath the dying sun Still the rooks cry for no one In a churchyard grey and overgrown Where rooks perch upon the headstones And cry in cracked and mocking tones for no one