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With his fool’s gold stacked up all around him, from a killing in the market on the war. The children left King Midas there as they found him, in his counting house where nothing counts but more. And he thought he heard the echoes of a pennywhistle band, and the laughter from a distant caravan. And the brightly painted line of circus wagons in the sand, fading through the door into summer.

With his fool’s gold stacked up all around him, from a killing in the market on the war. The children left King Midas there as they found him, in his counting house where nothing counts but more. And he thought he heard the echoes of a pennywhistle band, and the laughter from a distant caravan. And the brightly painted line of circus wagons in the sand, fading through the door into summer.

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With his fool’s gold stacked up all around him, from a killing in the market on the war. The children left King Midas there as they found him, in his counting house where nothing counts but more. And he thought he heard the echoes of a pennywhistle band, and the laughter from a distant caravan. And the brightly painted line of circus wagons in the sand, fading through the door into summer.

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