As it were that we should be valiant,

Grimace in the wickedness of the sun,

Hold hands to catch out breaths,

Embrace the idea of being immortal.

But the nature of man is without savvy,

As we grimace in the wickedness of the sun.

We know all that glitters is not the sun,

Thus human emotions become counterfeit.

We are knitted gifts and coloured parcels,

We are the kids of the rifle era.

We are exquisite rugs and stately homes,

We are the love child of egaliteria.