Right to left,
swaying like a dry falling leaf.
Home he comes not
To his paradise to sleep,
he goes.
Oh, magnificent!
the peace and coziness
of a better world,
the scent of burning incense
and the warming aura.
Angels will wreathe him,
play him songs of his delight
He will sip heavenly wine
and flirt with every pulchritude
Oh, what a dream!
when he wakes up from his cloud-cuckoo land
at dawn,
he will be climbing out from the gutter.
