1. Death is a barren wasteland where no foot has trod,
And he who entered it turned back no more.

2. To God belongs the Kingdom; he who gains wealth
Is driven to restore it, his soul held in pawn.

3.
If I or any other owned a speck of dust

4. Above the soil, its rule would be shared.
If reason were unclouded, it would cast off

5. Its burden, and you would see no conflict in the fray.
The hide that its owner cast away satisfies

6. The tribe in division, shared among the group.
Leave the wild cats be; if you are fated a meeting,

7. You will go to them, not set a snare.
Toward death all living hasten since their birth,

8. So heed not if the caravan halted or rode on.

9. More gently comes the final breath, while souls
Watch their release from a body long oppressed.