Beyond the hills where the amber sun dies,
A fortress of brilliance begins to arise.
Not made of the timber, the brick, or the stone,
But a monument standing in splendor alone.
A palace of sunlight, a temple of grace,
Reflecting the stars in its shimmering face.
The walls are like mirrors of liquid fire,
Rising up high like a celestial spire.
The gates are a marvel of filigree weave,
Where the shadows of evening are forced to leave.
Every pillar is polished, every hallway is bright,
Holding the essence of pure, golden light.
The floors are like rivers of hardened gold,
Telling the stories that never grow old.
When the rain falls above on the heavy gold roof,
It sounds like the rhythm of a heavenly hoof.
No darkness can enter, no sorrow can stay,
Where the brilliance of fortune has cleared the way.
Inside, the air has a shimmering glow,
As the winds of the universe softly blow.
The windows are cut from a diamond's own heart,
Framing the world like a masterpiece art.
A crown for the earth, a throne for the soul,
Keeping the spirit in steady control.
It stands as a symbol of power and pride,
With the secrets of empires hidden inside.
Through the storms and the ages, it never will fade,
For of the most precious of things, it was made.
A harbor of glory, a vision so grand,
Built by the strength of a sovereign hand.
It shines for the dreamers who look from afar,
Beaming as bright as a fallen star.
In this house of the sun, where the miracles wait,
The master of destiny opens the gate.