In his sign You will see these golden letters Make sure that no one enters My mighty high house
During the years Every desire slowly walked in Decorated walls are talking Of riches and fame
And now he can tell When your heart is made out of gold It's going to weigh like hell
Ever wonder if all was worthwhile? Seen through the haze? You never found Pockets in the shroud Hear the thunder and brimstone raining The rats in the race They never found Pockets in the shroud
What is left Not so much of children's stories But a basement full of worries Deep underground
Once long ago All the crossing roads were still there When your hair has long since turned silver There is no return
Who would have believed A fool had built a house out of The years he left unlived
Sky is coming down Lightshow and the bitter rain Echoing sound of pairs of boots They are walking up a hill On the borderlines of sleep On such a day It is fine that it should rain
