“Now I lay me down to sleep.
Lord I pray my soul to keep.”
When the devils come out and the dark sets in,
I talk to God of all my sins.
My little lock-box, to hear, to save.
Against the night told me to rave.
The little lion jumps forth and bites,
And widows all the wives of knights.
With grim grey hats and heave hearts,
The dead lowered down, wheeled in by carts.
The White Man stands and says to God,
“Give us your love, your fist, your rod.”
We bow our heads o’er our shepherds pie,
Thank God for bread, both wheat and rye.
The Priest will pray, in golden robes,
That His love be spread all ’round the globe.
And I thank my stars that God seems shy.
He’d ask me to go, to love, to fight;
He’d speak of my sins, and say, “It’s alright.”
And this I’d not bear; I’d rather die.