As the dawn comes up like thunder.
We be of one blood, ye and I
There rise her timeless capitals of empires daily born, whose plinths are laid at midnight and whose streets are packed at morn; and here come tired youths and maids that feign to love or sin in tones like rusty razor blades to tunes like smitten tin.
'E's all'ot sand an' ginger when alive, An''e's generally shammin' when'e's dead.
There's no jealousy in the grave.
Yes, making mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep... For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that an' Chuck him out, the brute! But it's Saviour of his country, when the guns begins to shoot!