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Gilded Cage
The moon sinks slowly into the sea
Another night drowning in a pool of molten silver
Where will we find the pot of gold?
When will the clouds drift away?
The nightingale cries in its gilded cage,
Arrows of straw pierce not hearts of stone.
Where will we find the pot of gold?
When will the clouds drift away?
The lovely girl's eyes, lowered, averted,
Safety in solitude, lonely in the void.
Where will we find the pot of gold?
When will the clouds drift away?
Where will we find our pot of gold?
When will these clouds float away?
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