As fountain automatons hale the hours
And weather bias that bit of solar year
The air and water pressure pump them powers
The froth and bubbles liven me I swear
The grains of gold come caulk canals just near
They gild the liquid streets and bunker bowers
Viaducts drag down the gold in stormy showers
It grows in grooves of granite stair and gear
The modest maiden chants of golden age
The days of crackling silk their ambient hum
And her hands harp on plenty line ends strum
On pleasant clime tower bells act brake and gauge
On crackling immortality Im sold
I hold to heart this ambient coin of gold
Chorus sold bagged closed
