I played the harp In a pigsty, Thinking if I played for long enough they might Turn away From their feed So that I could steal a handful of their beans. Sleeping on A pile of hayseed, I will sink until I'm underneath the floor; And like Job Said to his Lord: "You will look for me but I will be no more." I have knocked With friendly face On the door that keeps the world in its place; When no one came, I realized That I was knocking on the front door of my house. So this is my Quiet ascension; I'm not one for tearing schisms in the sky: A little meat, A little bread, And my parents holding candles by my bed.