It is true, as the Good Book says
That made of dirt am I
As are all things that wander
Under the bright blue sky.
For dirt contains the blood of saints
And the crumbled bones of kings
The dust of wise old scrolls long gone
And blasted sacred things.
But dirt contains the bones of beasts
Of cowards and fools long gone
The decayed flesh of countless thieves
Men despised in ryhme and song.
All these things and more am I
As I am but a man
The contradiction of the earth
Under the sun I stand