No Gold
Tim Smith
She is only trying on a leafy crown
She's looking in the mirror
And kind glass knows her too well
'Dig deep' she's told
Ah well, no gold
And let's drink soup to misfortune
Her complete faith is eager to serve as her mirror
Where she wants to be
In one small step nearer
She'll soup her mirror
She's souped her mirror
Now that's what I call a story
It's not your fault
That we want to go home at the end of every street
There you go my son
Thank you you're welcome
There you go my son
Thank you you're welcome
There you go my son
Thank you you're welcome