“Consume, consume!” the word oft heard,
A glowing essence of a world
That marks the land with sparking coils,
And drills the crust for oozing oil,
With plumes of smoke like banners twirled.
Into our fires we are hurled,
Among the oak and birchwood burls,
We hum the tune of our war cry,
Take off your gloves, cast down your pearls,
The golden bands that grace your curls!
Lift your eyes towards dark’ning skies
And take our standard, hold it high!
Burn up that word you oft unfurled,