Strings of gold

There were always thousand hands beneath your feet
And while they hold you, you dance quietly to the beat
The dance for sacred, hold on tight when murderers call
And they weep because you are young and free to fall

But the hardest thing of lying is to keep your mouth shut
About presents that will wait beneath your feet

The hardest thing about growing up is this cold
We hold on tight
But dear don’t you go now
You’ll know now
How to fold
We hold on tight

The hardest thing about growing up is this cold
We hold on tight
No words are sacred
Tied up on strings of gold
We hold on tight

They were old but they were smart and they knew more
More than a solo riding mind on to the streets
The drive for sacred - hold on tight when murderers call
And they sleep cause you don’t go where they won’t fall