Of all the deaf old bones
The scepter and the crown,
Of all the kings and emperors
They must tumble down.
They creak, stench, but all decay
And in the dust be equal made
Through sun, wind and sand;
With the poor crooked scythe and spade
Each man of ivory and bone;
The scepter and the crown,
Of noble tribe or hybrid clan
They must tumble down.
Spider weaves a pretty web
And in the dust be equal made,
Brethren on this day
With poor crooked scythe and spade.
Figure-flingers, faceless mask;
The scepter and the crown,
Of all those blind and buried years
They must tumble down
Career, fall and clatter
And in the dust be equal made,
Now all the kings and emperors are
With poor crooked scythe and spade