I am a smouldering pot of gold,
With the bottom melted through.
When I was smelting Gold in my youth,
The pot of gold I forsook the flume.
When flames ran high,
and the fire flared, I was running the mill,
For no one that cared.
The smouldering pot of gold bubbled, glowing red.
Till the bottom could not hold any longer, the liquid aurum fell through.
When I returned, it was too late.
Precious metal had been desecrate.
The mill had worn me. The barn did tear me,
The moment had come for me to parley.
Was the gold was worth salvaging me smelting?
Was the Crown worth my kiln to burn in?
I am a smouldering pot of gold,
With the bottom melted through.
When I was smelting Gold in my youth,
The pot of gold I forsook the flume.
I will start over and purify,
Removing all slag, all stain and sigh,
To give you my Heart, tried and true,
Crowning you with my Love,
of smouldering gold.
