1 for whom the toom tomb looms:
2 ken ye whence the cents to pay your rents?
3 so deep a sleep is never cheap:
4 the deceased wist peace is just a lease[†];
5 so hold your gold 'til ye be old,
6 to dole the toll for your hole in the fold,
7 where enroll your soul when the bell you knolls.
9 and as Sint Johann[es] has awrit,
10 ye be evict when the Lord decrit,
11 a rotten lich who would be rich
12 but for the snitch, devised to mitch,
13 by clever hitch had lent your ditch.
18 The Revilations of Johann