The Diakka

YOU are the Merry men, dwarfs of soul,
Who can get your hand through the tiniest hole,
And make your bells jingle outside of the show;
Prove there's life beyond, and on that we go!
'Tis trying to find that we are more near
To you than to those we have held more dear,
But I think they are backing you all the while;
And down on our efforts benignly may smile
To see how we strive and are ever unable
To meet and shake hands with the leg of a table.
So holloa, boys, ring the bells, let them see how
You can wake up the world with your
row-de-dow.

Folk say you are Devils: then act as such!
Give them a touch of the devil's clutch.
In times like ours 'tis a comfort to know
For certain there may be a devil or so!
We need them to prove how the lusts of old
For women or wine, for gore or gold,
Are not to be quenched with their burning breath
By the waters of Winter that drown us in death,
But still live on, all a-crave to be fed
In the earth-life lived by the homeless dead.
Holloa, boys, ring the bells, let us see how
You can wake up the world with your
row-de-dow.

Many a fathom deep under the ground
Souls like toads in the rock lie bound,
Awaiting the resurrection sound
Of the Crack of doom, for them to be found!
Nothing short of an earthquake-kick
Will send them heavenward, make them quick.
Spirits far off, invisible, mute,
Can no more reach to the buried root,
Than we upon earth to the moon can shoot,
Or open oysters by playing a flute!
Holloa, boys, ring the bells, show them how
You can wake up the world with your
row-de-dow.