I’ll tell you what will happen, friends,
In the unknown stretch of ages,
Despite the fact that learned men
Will disapprove my exhortation.
Once it’ll transpire on the Earth,
That storms will take their normal courses.
Then ices, like raw leather girths,
Will tighten the bellies of the oceans.
Will fall the currents of great strength,
Electric meters will show naughts,
And will detect their usual ways
Nor cash nor information flows.
And then not bellicose arms—
Not thud of hoofs and powder smoke—
But billions of the glasses drunk
Will drown this poor sinful Globe...
Black, violet, or color dreams
Will come, your troubles will be ended—
That is, ye all, benign and grim,
Will be entirely contented.
No one will like as it’ll befall,
But it’ll befall without doubt.
If there is crying in the North,
Then wait for crying in the South.
If there are gossips and outrages,
It means that will be squalls and droughts.
The Northern winds blow at their rate,
And they come back but through the South...