Standing still,
but not alone,
this is the call
a low and eerie tone.

The marching has all stopped,
as the wind has too,
all have stopped still,
all waiting, for what the other will do.

Days and nights, will pass,
and soon days to weeks,
weeks to years,
and years to eons.

And nothing will change.

Below the dirt, they all lie,
no more to worry,
no longer to fear
of having to die.

And so now alone, in the sea of green fields,
rolling hills, and flat plains,
never will they have to,
worry of feeling any of our human pains.

So here I am, paying my respects.
Standing still, but Not Alone.

Standing now, I feel the chill.
The chill or reality,
down to my bone.

Standing Still, but Not alone.
Nothing but grass. And silent stone.