drink up, merry men
for, in days, we're on the march
again to the blue
we'll bring home riches
in all intangible forms
invisible wounds
our eyes will be spoil'd
before splendor and orange dirt,
our feet well ignored
drink it up now, men
slake the thirst, douse the rumbling
that has you unquiet
and once you've arrived
you'll be happy to know that
you won't again thirst
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