Heaven-The Klezmatics

It's after my work tired and weary, I lay down to rest my eyes, I see this world change in a whirlwind and heaven flies down from the skies; I see rising up from my wreckage, cities and mansions so bright I see my friends eyes and their faces lit up with a bright shining light. I walk through the sunshiny factory where dresses and shirts are both clean; A brother and sister are singing at work as they watch all the wheels; No smudge clouds of smoke hid my valley, my sight it is clear for miles; The mountains are all dancing happy, the trees are waving me smiles. There are no sickly faces about me, the children are healthy and gay; Not one homeless soul is around me, not lost, nor cripple, nor lame; The street laid in finest of plastics, the atom is laboring as well; No airships are crashing here by me, no dead ones in burning hotels. No fast cars collide nor turn over, no death curve along my new road; No cheaters, no gamblers, no robbers, no graveyard, no prisons, no jails; No gasbombs, no brass knucks, no billies, no battles 'tween worker and boss; No patrolman, no officer, policeman, to ride into crowds on his horse. The last labor battles are ended, they're shown on the screen and the page; The workhand is happy at building his world like the play on his stage; Profiteers are gone and forgotten, except in my history and book, My friends all have jobs here in heaven and sing as I stand here and look. I am sawing the finest made fiddle, I am touching the richest skin drum; I am blowing the sweetest of woodwinds and blowing the deepest of horns; I dance to my music I'm making, and the world joins in with my dance; Science and hope cures the fevers, not one grain is blowing by chance. Every hand works in hand with the other, and not for power nor greed; Every hand works to its fullest ability and is paid in its deepest of need; No cancer, no tuberculosis, no paralysis nor asylums are here No bowery, nor skid row of homeless, no eye that is blinded by tears. If you can only see with me this vision of heaven I dreamed, Then you can take new faith in working with comrades and friends And when I woke up from my sleeping and looked down my raggedy street, I go back to work with my vision and I drink down the bitter and sweet. I know as you hear such a dream, friend, you will not pass it along; I do not expect you to sing it as I do, nor to sing such a curious song; I wrote down this song for my own self, and sing it now to my own soul, But if you'll sing songs of your dreamings, then you will reap treasures untold.