| Turn the key in the iron lock
|
| Of the old oak door
|
| Lean into its passages
|
| With all my weight and enter
|
| Immediately my olfactory senses it’s home
|
| Paper thin and paraffin
|
| With a glimmering of gold
|
| Marble hands are pouring water
|
| Silver wings delivering the chains?
|
| Streams of colored light make hallow home
|
| Mamas singing the songs of old
|
| Mama’s singing the songs of old
|
| Singing the rock of ages
|
| Though the gold is marred by red
|
| Singing the rock of ages
|
| Melt it down and make new things
|
| Singing the rock of ages
|
| Empires are made this way
|
| Singing the rock of ages
|
| Endless hopes and endless fears
|
| Polish this stone
|
| The deeper desire
|
| The fine of the grain
|
| This time I walk the stairway
|
| And turn the key in a cellar door
|
| I want to know why
|
| All these stories never spoken
|
| Danced or drawn or sung or written
|
| How we built this temple song by song
|
| Mama’s singing the songs of old
|
| Mama’s singing the songs of old
|
| Singing the rock of ages
|
| Though the gold is marred by red
|
| Singing the rock of ages
|
| Melt it down and make new things
|
| Singing the rock of ages
|
| Empires are made this way
|
| Singing the rock of ages
|
| Mama’s singing the songs of old
|
| Singing the rock of ages
|
| Though the gold is marred by red
|
| Singing the rock of ages
|
| Melt them down and make new things
|
| Singing the rock of ages
|
| Empires are made this way
|
| Singing the rock of ages |