When the cold heavy sky Weighs like a lid On spirits whom eternal boredom grips In day time darker than night's eclipse. ...and without drums and music Long hearses pass by slowly In my soul. When the world seems a dungeon damp and small Where hope flies like a bat in circles reeling Beating his timid wings against the wall And dashing out his brains against the ceiling. ...and without drums and music Long hearses pass by slowly In my soul. When trawling rains have made their steel-gray fibers Look like the grilles of some tremendous jail And a whole nation of disgusting spiders Over our brains their dusty cobwebs trail.