With his hands of gold
That great king turns everything he touches
To that soft, luminescent, so listed after
Precious metal that fools dream of.
But is any dollar amount
Worth the price we pay
For pushing away those we care
And changing their fates to that of fame?
Oh, great king midas,
What joy could you ever have
Only turning away those who have ever loved
And had never been loved
Oh great king midas,
How could you live with statues
Of your haunted past on your every doorstep
Throwing yourself into fame by the souls you have ravaged?
Oh great man of the 21st century,
How could you ever dare bring
The tarnish of fame into sanctified love?
The touch of gold onto the one you adore?
but it is done.
it is no more.
The blessing – no, the curse! – of midas’ touch strikes once more.