I'll pick the stones from the road And bind them with the road dust I'll build the wall or pyramid The obelisk or just a house I'll pick the fallen yellow leaves And bind them into trees of gold I'll put them on the silver hills But never trust the stories told
We'll meet ourselves in Midas Garden We're ringing bells, and golden guardian We're time is sand, and statues bend In Midas Garden
I see the storms on horizons They're coming to crush this wishes place I hear the devil laughing out When people falling from the grace But nothing now blocking sun And nothing spoil the sight of the moon The silver hills in golden dawn The golden years are coming soon