Feeling sentimental
Your throne of gold has turned to silver
You have gone mental, there is no lining on the cloud
All you can see is gold, Midas
Sleeping in fields of gold, sleeping under the clouds of cotton seeds
Germinating roots bright as the sun too

Feeling like I love you
Your throne of gold has turned to silver
You have gone mental, there is no lining on the cloud
All you can see is gold, Zizi looks at you fondly
With a goose feather pillow under your heart
Cotton cotyledons flying in the sleeping trees swirling in the cots of friendly swirls caught up with the weatherman