See the ruin on the hill where the smoke is hanging still
Like an echo of an age long forgotten
There's a story of a home crushed beneath those blackened stones
And the roof which fell before the beams were rotten

Cecil Darby loved his wife and he labored all his life
To provide her with material possessions
So he built for her a home of the finest wood and stone
And the building soon became his sole obsession

Though they shared a common bed there was precious little said
In the moments that were set aside for sleepin'
For his busy dreams were filled with the rooms he'd yet to build
And he never heard young Ellen Darby weeping

Then one night he heard a sound as he laid his pencil down
And traced it to her door and turned the handle
In the pale light of the moon through the window of the room
Split the shadows where two bodies lay entangled