A stone marks the location where the highwayman waited, where the fisherman baited, where the lost man found his way from lost and exasperated
Grass grew on its quiet country lane, a horse drawing a cart slowly up a hill start, 1 mile from where a lover feels the need to depart, from a beautiful lady that broke his heart
A marathon was won, joy on all the people's faces then there were none left for the races, a motorway can be seen in the far off distance, yet it lies there still, quiet at the bottom of that hill, there's Buttercups and daffodils, the spring is here, goodbye at last to winters chill, dust spread far and wide from the old windmill
Sat navs and gadgets packed lunches with faggots, 70 miles per hour, bread from the flour, it lies there still and for a thousand years will, a secret to tell forever more keep, tears from my eyes where I once did weep, you passed from us mother, my memories still hold, the wonderful things and the stories you told, a lock of your hair is under the throne of the little white rock called a 'Milestone'
