Beat the squares with rebellion's tread.
Raise your heads higher still with pride.
We shall wash clean with a second Flood
towns and cities universe-wide.

The bull of days is pied.
Slow the years' ox-cart.
Our god is speed.
A drum is our heart.

Is there gold diviner than ours?
Shall we fall to the bullet-wasps?
Our weapon is the song in our mouths,
Our gold our echoing voice.

Meadows lie green
beneath days outspread.
Rainbow's arc, rein in
the years' swift steeds.

How dull for the starry sky
when without it we make our song!
Hey, Great Bear, take us alive
up to heaven where we belong!

Sing songs, drink joy!
In our veins spring has come.
Heart, beat for war
on the breast's brass drum!