I'll see you at the Weighing-In, when your life's sum-total's made:
And you set your wealth in goodly deeds against the sins you've laid.
And you place your final burden on your hard-pressed next of kin:
Send the chamber-pot back down the line, to be filled up again!
And the hard-headed miracle worker - who bathes his hands in blood,
Will welcome you to the final "nod" - and cover you with mud.
And he'll say "You really should make the deal,"
As he offers round the hat.
"Well, you'd better lick two fingers clean - he'll thank you all for that."
As you slip on the greasy platform, and you land upon your back -
You make a wish and you wipe your nose upon the railway track.
While the high-strung locomotive, with furnace burning bright,
Lumbers on - you wave goodbye - and the sparks fade into night.
And as you join the Good Ship Earth, and you mingle with the dust -
You'd better leave your underpants with someone you can trust.
And when the Old Man with the telescope cuts the final strand -
You'd better lick two fingers clean, before you shake his hand.