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



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