For in this mortal we are blest,
With roaving eyes and heaving chest.
We are the founders of the great tomorrow.
But what of it that brings us sorrow.
In tears that are full of eyes and
feet that have a will to fall
We have the word of mouth,
To splash the splendour from it all.
And here we gaze upon our milking sea,
The bossom of our eternity.
To spoil the softness from our head,
The scattering of sheets makes our skin as cold as lead.