He took the hammer in his hand
Moulded the night into the day
And when the helmsman cried out "Land!"
His job was done, he slipped away.
Who was this God who woke the Sun
And dragged him out of bed
And sent him on his lonely run
Across the sky above my head?
I know not nor do I much worry;
Such things were fit for idle ages.
I slept in late and now must hurry
To exchange my myths for worldly wages