The high priest of money looks down on the river
|
The dawn coming up on his kingdom of gold
|
When the rim of the sun sends an arrow of silver
|
He prays to the gods of the bought and the sold
|
|
He turns to his symbols, his ribbons of numbers
|
They circle and spin on their mystical scroll
|
He looks for a sign while the city still slumbers
|
And the ribbons and the river forever unroll
|
In his kingdom of gold, his kingdom of gold
|
Kingdom of gold, his kingdom of gold
|
Kingdom of gold
|
|
On the horizon an enemy haven
|
Sends traces of smoke high up into the sky
|
A pack of dog jackals and a rabble of ravens
|
Who'll come for his fortress, his castle on high
|
In his kingdom of gold, kingdom of gold
|
Kingdom of gold, his kingdom of gold
|
Kingdom of gold
|
|
His axes and armour will conquer these devils
|
The turbulent raiders will falter and fall
|
Their leaders be taken, their camps burned and levelled
|
They'll hang in the wind from his citadel walls
|
In his kingdom of gold, kingdom of gold
|
Kingdom of gold, kingdom of gold
|
Kingdom of gold
|
|
-----------------
|
Kingdom Of Gold
|
Mark Knopfler |