The caravan is moving through the sand.
Guided by a cold and frozen hand.
A dark guitar pluck opens up the track.
There is no more turning back.
Follow me along the road of silk.
Where the clouds are white as pouring milk.
Let the old string tell you where to go.
While the deep house rhythm starts to flow.
Violin melodies are rich and grand.
Like a movie filmed in golden land.
Guided by a cold and frozen hand.
A dark guitar pluck opens up the track.
There is no more turning back.
Follow me along the road of silk.
Where the clouds are white as pouring milk.
Let the old string tell you where to go.
While the deep house rhythm starts to flow.
Violin melodies are rich and grand.
Like a movie filmed in golden land.