I mortar down the bricks of lust,
my beating heart entombing,
that I may go and dig for gold,
the heart of Earth exhuming,
and gild my flesh in solid gold,
my soul and spirit dooming.

For many year I mined the land,
for sweet, cool metal bright,
and set myself within a house
of opulent delight:
a palace wrought of gold
(Oh, what a hedonistic sight!)

I sat upon my golden throne,
within a golden palace.
I ate and ate from golden plate
and drank from golden chalice.
But then He came, with grimy hands,
Who spoke those words of malice.

He told me that my end would come,
in two and forty day,
and spake about an oracle
that dwelt ten mile away,
and said to go and learn my fate,
that I might learn dismay.

I went upon a ten-mile hajj
to hear my death foretold—
and yes indeed, in six short weeks,
for naught shall I be sold,
so bury me in golden dust,
and with your tools and mould,
prepare for that grand burial
a cask of solid gold.