Beneath the mourning Heavens
Will arise a young god
Nurtured by the queer people, the dreamers.
He will revive the dying Eagle;
Empty the witches brew of hate;
Refill its casks with wine of ruth;
Build altars from the fragments of dead dreams
And light thereon the tapers of forgiveness.
Then will the thunderous echoes
Of the hooves of the stallion war
Die in the distance;
And again shall be heard
The triumphant screen of the Eagle
With never the clang of chains.
O queer dreamers of destiny,
Nurture well the young god
Whose name is love.
