Listless we labor or idle, creep into an early bed.
Sleep is the best thing now, and the best is the sleep of the dead.
Prepare for the end of the world! Build up the church, the throne,
Sell all your goods and give, have nothing to call your own;
Put everything in common. That’s one cry. What remains?
Taxes, soldiers, prisons, edicts, laws and chains.
There never was such a time! What man is lord of his soul?
Someone entered my barn and took my ass with foal
For the prophet to ride on in triumph. I was there and saw him ride,
Crowds crying hallelujah pressing on every side.
They would have all things in common. They kill a man and his wife,
And Cæsar rules as always, and yet they call this life!
Wars forever and ever, manned by hovels and huts;
And what is it all about? lands, and gold and guts;
And baptists stirring the dreamers, and bankers that thrive thereby.
Why kill off Ananias when the whole of life is a lie?
All right, young men, put her down. Go to it now with the spade.
We’ll bury the woman Sapphira here where her husband’s laid.
They’re out of it. Neither Cæsar nor Peter can wake their sleep.
I lost my ass, and they lost their lives for the price of a sheep.