My House Of Gold
I have a house _ a house of Gold. It’s ever‑o‑ever so fine.
It’s furnished with cushions of flesh, you see, with labours of love for wine.
I longed to find my house of Gold _ for twenty some years and more.
Yet searching did not bring my house to me _ engulfed as I was in war.
'Twas war in my soul that held it back, though longing I was to see.
I never did ever suspect at all, that it would exist __ without me.
My house it sits by a Waterfall that’s crystal and never stands still.