1915

God will doom you, for sure,
Because you - so droll;
You will have to endure
The earthly pain in all.

You will mock, long and bitter,
Your life, lost sunny beams,
And feel yourself as guilty
For your resplendent dreams.

It'll die - your sacred fire -
In deeps, so mute and vague,
But men will not be tired,
To cry, "Hey, an old wag!"

Will mock you, as a clown, -
- You're so funny chap! -
And, o'er your eyes, pull down,
A worn out joker's cap,

Push on a sandy round.
"You have to dance and sing!"
Well, the fool's cap's pulled down,
And bells of clowns ring.

The funny tears are flowed
Through wrinkles of weather'd cheeks,
And all roar around
To each of jumps and kicks.