Work

What you do as work, with your hands,
Matters,
As the sun goes round and round
The sky.

Whether you wash the panes of glass

Of the rich on a ladder,
As the sun goes round and round
The sky.

Whether you mix poisons in glass

In time to be home for dinner,
Or build a bomb for a bigger blast,
And leave church a pardoned sinner.

Whether you bake the bread millions eat

To live,
As the sun goes round and round
The sky.

Whether you plot the crimes you ask
The world forgive,

As the sun goes round and round

The sky.

Whether you know or not,

Workers sit in a faraway land

In a circle working by hand
Making things worth nothing in gold.

Yet the things will still be sold

Amongst each other,

Bringing joy to friend and brother.  

When the sun shall cross the sky no more

You shall be remembered far, far more

By the way you put your hands to work.

And if your fingers knew no dirt,

Pray that they opened many doors.