Stick your javelin into the sky
And feel the blood run down it
That soaks blue in the sleeve as
It tries to keep up
Go ahead
And shrug off the armor
That sticky red set
It's rusted immobile and
You've got to keep up
Carry on
In the host-beating march
With eighty-nine sticks
That javelin the sky
It's all drained gray, but
At least it kept up
