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