The lights are on
The TV's off
The floors are fleshy silk
But sinfully soft
Skin glides over silk
Silk glides over skin
The penthouse is alive tonight
There's people writhing in its veins

Sunken in the master's chair
Lord Gold's face a blank survey
Women pleasure men at the wave of his golden hand
And turn to receive as he waves again

The wine is fire
The whiskey's full of stars
There's a deaf mute in a bunny suit
Working the bar
The lovers fuck
They pulse and moan
Passion paying tribute
At the foot of a porcelain

Sunken in the master's chair
Lord Gold's face a blank survey
Women pleasure men at the wave of his golden hand
And turn to receive as he waves again
Still his eyes are like an empty carousel
Promising pleasure but offering none
She sees him
Watching, gazing, leering blankly, vacant, worthless, golden, perfect

And outside of these walls nothing exists
And inside of these walls there's flesh and gold and blood in the wine
Outside there's barren emotional landscapes
Here we drink and dream and cum inside
Here there's no pain
Here she comes
Wash off the filth and bring her
Shower her body with julep and incense
Fill her with jewels covered in cum
Sacrificed in his alter of passions
The golden day has come
His golden day has come

And the lights are all off now
And the love growing louder
The pink, throbbing and filling the room
Denying the inner, indulging the outer
She's brought before he
His empty gaze lingers
He beats a cat's paw against a toy drum
His golden will be done