For gin the sun and mune at last
Are as a neebor’s lintel passed,
The wheel’ll tine its stature fast,
And birl in time inside oor heids
Till we can thraw oot conscious gleids
That draw an answer to oor needs,
Or if nae answer still we find
Brichten till a’ thing is defined
In the huge licht-beams o’ oor kind,
And if we still can find nae trace