This is the WorldThis is the world of those who have no peace
this is the world of those who only trail
along the footpath of the sluggish snail
and always dribbles when it says its piece.
But in this world there is a burning furnace,
cauldron of pitch and charcoal is man’s evil,
some put it off, others stoke it full sail,
that’s why our life is being torn to pieces.
What we really need is a goldfinch, male,
to assemble all the folk and tell them please,
you wretched people can’t find any peace
because you’re always hostile, so you fail.
You pick each other off with stones and tiles
and go around so full of pap and grease...
you like to stuff yourselves with words and wiles,
and always wear the cross as a showpiece.
No matter what you do the world won’t cease,
always in one place, always: fire and coal
who looks for money will only lose his peace,
a meddler it was who came up with capital.
Who lives of envy will tear his heart to pieces,
with his poison that rambles on and rails,