[Verse 1] Gold on the stone, gold on the tree, gold where the daylight happens to be. A breath-thin leaf on an ordinary thing, and suddenly everyone looks again. Gold on the silence, gold on the wall, gold catches light and gives back more. We follow the shimmer, we always have done, from buried treasure to the face of the sun. [Chorus] A room full of gold will not make you rich. You can cover every surface, every stone, every switch. Let the whole room glow, let it dazzle, let it hold— there may be almost nothing there but a little leaf of gold. [Verse 2] We gave it to temples, crowns and graves, to gods and rulers, saints and names. We crossed the oceans, opened the ground, lost whole lives for what we found. And still one glimmer on a weathered stone can stop a stranger walking home. Not for the fortune lying there— but because something changed in the air. [Chorus] A room full of gold will not make you rich. You can cover every surface, every stone, every switch. Let the whole room glow, let it dazzle, let it hold— there may be almost nothing there but a little leaf of gold. [Bridge] How thin can value be? How heavy is desire? How much of gold is metal, how much of it is fire? If I gild a broken branch, have I changed the branch at all? Or only changed the way you see it when the evening light begins to fall? [Final Chorus] A world full of gold would not make us rich. Not every shining surface has a treasure under it. But sometimes one small golden mark makes an ordinary thing unfold— and perhaps that is the mystery, not the money in the gold. [Outro] Gold can be taken. Gold can disappear. A surface can be stripped away— and still the mark is here. Gold on a stone. Gold on a tree. Almost no weight— and still we see.
