When your palace has emptied,
and the silver is polished and stowed away,
When the memory of her laugh fades into a danker darkness,
The only life remaining a reflection in the marble and mirrors about you--
Flecks of gold will be all that'll save you and carry you home!!
You will rest your tired, boney and raw fingers in the pockets lined with it,
You will cleave to the bosom of all that is not separated from it!
Your haunted mansion,
once your elegant home,
will no longer cloak you in any solace.
It will not offer horrors enough,
and that'll keep you from the trappings of the loneliness of it!
You will hang tight to those whispers of the light and the honey,
You will try and hold onto all that was once gleaming,
and of the purest Southern Gold!
Your heart will beat in time with the echoed silences that linger in each and every hall.
Your palace now vacant,
Your life now ending,
And the clock's chime an optimistic parody of a fortune told!
This is now your future's road.
Be still in its message and in the obituary,
There will be a new frontier in the passing,
But of this, and death's toll reaching,
are no more flecks of gold.