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As the wind blows through the wheat,
the Readers gaze from up on high,
the will of Wotan do they seek?,
as the great owl breathes his sigh.
The Readers say they only want,
to see Wotan's will be done,
but even when Wotan is blunt,
the Readers think the signs will come.
Wotan shows his mighty way,
but the Readers still deny,
they believe they have final say,
though Wotan calls from on high.
Wotan did not tell this to me,
so how can His will be known,
it is my ear into which he speaks,
my ear and mine alone.
The Readers have forgotten this,
that Wotan will decide,
upon which cheek to place his kiss,
and yet their eyes they hide.
Instead of telling of Wotan's will,
they have turned to themselves,
and the Rat's toture and kill,
while all mice live in hell.
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