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