The people pounded their leather hearts and cried
for truth, so the angel blew her trumpet and declared
The number of matchless treasurable lives is infinite           

                            but  
you can’t see them with eyes of comparison
or smell what’s marked with the scent of “mine”
or live those lives without laying down your own
                           and   

the people shouted Yada-yada-yada! and returned
to their occupations, and grasped their change
purses with firmer hands and narrowed eyes.