Go ’round with it, hum with it, curse with it, would laugh with it, had it laughter;
It is my breath—and that breath goes outward from me in moaning.
O you, up there, I have heard you; I am “God’s image defaced”,
“In heaven reward awaits me,” “hereafter I shall be perfect”;
Ages you’ve sung that song, but what is it to me, think you?
If you heard down here in the smoke and the smut, in the smear and the offal,
In the dust, in the mire, in the grime and in the slime, in the hideous darkness,
How the wheels turn your song into sounds of horror and loathing and cursing,
The offer of lust, the sneer of contempt and acceptance, thieves’ whispers,
The laugh of the gambler, the suicide’s gasp, the yell of the drunkard,