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Oh Tramp, from here to there. Who ever listens to your advice or commentary? The wagon road is your home. With no chair as a throne, the glorious starry sky is your crown. By the authorities you are denied. By the middle class mocked and scorned. While the rich man does not want to reward you with alms.

But there where your Saviour dwells gloriously in the treasury of your heart. There you are pardoned from all your sins by His Blood on the day of your death. So, oh tramp, from here to there, at the footstool of Abraham you now sit, cared for, comforted.

Oh kings of the earth, from here to there. So an entire lost world listens to your folly in the senseless reasoning of your commentary. Decorated with gold and silver, you sit proud and haughty on your world throne. In the shine of tinsel, rubies ​​and diamonds, shining brightly in your crown.

By authorities and bankers you are now presented as the great abomination to the world, as their salvation. Far above the mass of people you stand out as just the cream. But there where Lucifer lives in your treasure chambers as the great destroyer. There you will never be pardoned of all your unforgivable sins on your death day.

So, oh rich man, bankers and kings from here to there all over the earth. In the end you sit there in the fiery furnace, while you gaze longingly at the poor man at the footstool of Abraham.