Tell them we can see them;
The house of bones they live in,
The sweats that flush their gutters,
The sweats of our fathers and mothers, and
The blood of our brothers on their lintels,
That bought ’em passover from their trade;
Trade of death.
Tell them we’re louder;
We’re louder in anger than Abel,
We’re the chi inside Karma and nemesis.
We’ll crouch and let ’em strum our mane,
We’ll tolerate their gall but for a while, till
We handle the Trident of Poseidon, then,
We’ll cause earth to quake beneath them.