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It's after my work tired and weary, I lay down to rest my eyes, |
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I see this world change in a whirlwind and heaven flies down from the skies; |
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I see rising up from my wreckage, cities and mansions so bright |
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I see my friends eyes and their faces lit up with a bright shining light. |
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I walk through the sunshiny factory where dresses and shirts are both clean; |
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A brother and sister are singing at work as they watch all the wheels; |
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No smudge clouds of smoke hid my valley, my sight it is clear for miles; |
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The mountains are all dancing happy, the trees are waving me smiles. |
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There are no sickly faces about me, the children are healthy and gay; |
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Not one homeless soul is around me, not lost, nor cripple, nor lame; |
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The street laid in finest of plastics, the atom is laboring as well; |
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No airships are crashing here by me, no dead ones in burning hotels. |
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No fast cars collide nor turn over, no death curve along my new road; |
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No cheaters, no gamblers, no robbers, no graveyard, no prisons, no jails; |
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No gasbombs, no brass knucks, no billies, no battles 'tween worker and boss; |
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No patrolman, no officer, policeman, to ride into crowds on his horse. |
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The last labor battles are ended, they're shown on the screen and the page; |
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The workhand is happy at building his world like the play on his stage; |
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Profiteers are gone and forgotten, except in my history and book, |
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My friends all have jobs here in heaven and sing as I stand here and look. |
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I am sawing the finest made fiddle, I am touching the richest skin drum; |
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I am blowing the sweetest of woodwinds and blowing the deepest of horns; |
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I dance to my music I'm making, and the world joins in with my dance; |
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Science and hope cures the fevers, not one grain is blowing by chance. |
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Every hand works in hand with the other, and not for power nor greed; |
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Every hand works to its fullest ability and is paid in its deepest of need; |
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No cancer, no tuberculosis, no paralysis nor asylums are here |
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No bowery, nor skid row of homeless, no eye that is blinded by tears. |
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If you can only see with me this vision of heaven I dreamed, |
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Then you can take new faith in working with comrades and friends |
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And when I woke up from my sleeping and looked down my raggedy street, |
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I go back to work with my vision and I drink down the bitter and sweet. |
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I know as you hear such a dream, friend, you will not pass it along; |
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I do not expect you to sing it as I do, nor to sing such a curious song; |
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I wrote down this song for my own self, and sing it now to my own soul, |
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But if you'll sing songs of your dreamings, then you will reap treasures untold. |
