In the Guild Hall of the Golden Tulip

In the Guild Hall of the Golden Tulip
The hammers sound both day and night.
In the Guild Hall of the Golden Tulip
All the blossoms must be aligned just right

The work at times is slow...
There is the natural wandering growth and sorrow
At days end, when the apprentices prepare to go,
They are already planning for the pain of the morrow.

The flowers are bedded, feet in mire
Some in clay, some close to the fire
Others in sand and some in weeds
All are choking on their personal needs.
Each one must be trained up straight and true
To allow the brilliant light coming through

There is more to life than earthly goods.
This we discover to our grief
Don't forget your childhoods
Wonder, as life's duration is sorely brief

Soon we'll bellow with adult thunder
And leave behind our loving ways
Then if our world is burst asunder
How will we measure our remaining days?

In the Guild Hall of the Golden Tulip
The work will never end.
In the Guild Hall of the Golden Tulip
There are those whose ego will never bend.

Sorrow will follow those whose will is iron
They married money and power in the dark of the night
Some say their suffering will never end
Others just say they will never see the light.