There in the chapel- a frozen glint
A sunny gleam.
As unimpressive as it would seem…
And yet within the sanctity of the tower belfry
It shines like the sun to me.
Its shape most pleasing to my eye.
And even I on some occasions wonder why,
But in most cases I will simply
Be compelled to haunt these places. As sweet to my ears as
Philosophic rhymes, I do begin my life of chimes.
And I will ring the bells a thousand times
And celebrate my auditory crimes.
And I will ride a handbasket to hell
To come by means to ring my bell.
Yes, I will do it well, by hell!
The villagers will cast their change
Both loose and tight
Both saved and spare.
I can’t say that I really care.
I can’t say that it’s my concern because
I’ll suffer, writhe, and burn
To take my turn and ring my bells
To chimes of dimes
In multiples, exponents and in primes.
Tis right! Tis meet! That I should choose this
Aspiration. And further to expound my
Situation, I shall make this proclamation:
Back, back! You heathen crowd,
For I shall ring the bells aloud and make the unwashed masses proud.
As they part to make a path for my disfigured
Autograph, I ascend into the tower in the cloud.
And once perched so near to heaven, I unshroud
The shiny golden object upon which
My god has blessed so well. And I will
Have a holy, pious union with my bell.