For I will be so unaware.
Though fields their slain has carpeted,
And seas be salt with tears they shed,
Not one I’ll waste, for I’ll be dead.
Though atom bombs in ashes lay
Their skyey cities of to-day,
With carrion lips I cannot pray.
Though ruin reigns and madness raves,
And cowering men creep back in caves,
I cannot help to dig their graves.
Though fools for knowledge delve too deep,
And wake dark demons from their sleep,
I will not have the eyes to weep.
I will not care, I cannot care,
For I will be no longer there
To share their sorrow and despair.
And nevermore my heart will bleed
When on my brain the blind-worms feed,
For I’ll be dead, dead, DEAD indeed.
And when I rot and cease to be,
It matters not a jot to me
What may be man’s dark destiny.
Ah! there you have the hell of it,
As in the face of Fate I spit
I know she doesn’t mind a bit.
A thousand millions clot this earth,
And billions more await their birth –
For what? . . . Ye gods, enjoy your mirth!
If sky be radiantly fair
Or tempest roar.
If my life-hoard in sin be spent,
My wife re-wed,–
I’ll be so damned indifferent
When I am dead.
When I meet up with dusty doom
What if I rest
In common ditch or marble tomb,
If curst or blest?
Shall my seed be to wealth or fame,
Or gallows led,–
To me it will be all the same
When I am dead.
So say for me no pious prayer,
Be no tear shed;
In nothingness I cannot care,
I’ll be so dead.
I shall not reck of war or peace
When I go hence:
Lord, let me win sublime release,–
INDIFFERENCE!