The hand, could do the heart's job
    Still a blind man's work,
  Would toil him to his death.

   All of his dues are robbed;
    A job always awaits him
   But to one who can't see,
How do they count their failings?

Who can run from responsibility,
    feet counting their steps?
Counting all; the amounts of it's due
      For debts to be soon met.

          Play it safe may open one,
   To be safely tucked away in graves.
         They seem to be a waste?

             But open your eyes,
             And be wide awake.