With his fool's gold stacked up all around him

From a killing in the market on the war

The children left King Midas there, as they found him

In his counting house where nothing counts but more



CHORUS:

And he thought he heard the echo of a penny whistle band

And the laughter from a distant caravan

And the brightly painted line of circus wagons in the sand

Fading through the door into summer



Well, it's travel onto "maybe next year" 's places

As a trade-in for a name upon the door

And he pays for every year he cannot buy back with his tears

As he finds out there's been no one keeping score



CHORUS...