Heaven

It's after my work tired and weary, I lay down to rest 
my eyes,
I see this world change in a whirlwind and heaven flies 
down from the skies;
I see rising up from my wreckage cities and mansions so 
bright
I see my friends eyes and their faces lit up with a 
bright shining light.

I walk through the sunshiny factory where dresses and 
shirts are both clean;
A brother and sister are singing at work as they watch 
all the wheels;
No smudge clouds of smoke hide my valley, my sky it is 
clear for miles;
The mountains are all dancing happy, the trees are 
waving me smiles.

There are no sickly faces about me, the children are 
healthy and gay;
Not one homeless soul is around me, nor lost, nor 
cripple nor lame;
The street laid in finest of plastics, the atom is 
laboring as well;
No airships are crashing here by me, no dead ones in 
burning hotels.

No fast cars collide nor turn over, no death curve 
along my new road;
No cheaters, no gamblers, no robbers, no graveyard, no 
prisons, no jails;
No gasbombs, no brass knucks, no billies, no battles 
‘tween worker and boss;
No patrolmen, no officer, policeman, to ride into 
crowds on his horse.

The last labor battles are ended, they're shown on the 
screen and the page;
The workhand is happy at building his world like the 
play on his stage;
Profiteers are gone and forgotten, except in my history 
and book;
My friends all have jobs here in heaven and sing as I 
stand here and look.

I am sawing the finest made fiddle, I am touching the 
richest skin drum;
I am blowing the sweetest of woodwinds and blowing the 
deepest of horns;
I dance to my music I'm making, and the world joins in 
with my dance;
Science and hope cures the fevers, not one grain is 
blowing by chance.

Every hand works in hand with the other and not for 
power nor greed;
Every hand works to its fullest ability and is paid in 
its deepest of need;
No cancer, no tubercolosis, no paralysis nor asylums 
are here
No bowery nor skid row of homeless, no eye that is 
blinded by tears.

If you can only see with me this vision of heaven I 
dreamed,
Then you can take new faith in working with comrades 
and friends
And when I woke up from my sleeping and looked down my 
raggedy street,
I go back to work with my vision and I drink down the 
bitter and sweet.

I know as you hear such a dream, friend, you will not 
pass it along;
I do not expect you to sing it as I do, nor to sing 
such a curious song;
I wrote down this song for my own self, and sing it now 
to my own soul.
But if you'll sing songs of your dreamings, then you 
will reap treasures untold.