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I'll see you at the Weighing-In, |
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When your life's sum-total's made |
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And you set your wealth in Godly deeds |
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Against the sins you've laid. |
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And you place your final burden |
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On your hard-pressed next of kin: |
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Send the chamber-pot back down the line |
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To be filled up again. |
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And the hard-headed miracle worker |
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Who bathes his hands in blood, |
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Will welcome you to the final nod --- |
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And cover you with mud. |
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And he'll say, ``You really should make the deal, '' |
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As he offers round the hat. |
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``You'd better lick two fingers clean --- |
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He'll thank you all for that. '' |
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As you slip on the greasy platform, |
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And you land upon your back, |
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You make a wish and you wipe your nose upon the railway track. |
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While the high-strung locomotive, |
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With furnace burning bright, |
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Lumbers on --- you wave goodbye --- |
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And the sparks fade into night. |
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And as you join the Good Ship Earth, |
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And you mingle with the dust --- |
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You'd better leave your underpants |
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With someone you can trust. |
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And when the Old Man with the telescope |
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Cuts the final strand --- |
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You'd better lick two fingers clean, |
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Before you shake his hand. |
