The halls at Graceland are silent,
No more do they ring with song;
No more do they echo the laughter
Of our King and his happy throng.
The Kingís own bedroom is empty,
Though most things havenít been touched;
For it hurts to go into that room now,
Everyone misses him so much.
In the Meditation Garden
Where the King loved to sit at ease,
A marble slab marks the sacred spot
Where he lies in eternal peace.
Now the famous gates at Graceland
Donít echo the usual sounds
Of the fans, crying out for Elvis Ė
The King is no longer around.