Hear, children of men
Crawlers of the ponderous planet

Let the waves sing and the winds wail
Don't listen there are martyrs to be made
St Paul will look after your clothes
Go on ahead there are stones at reach
Forget all your afflictions go on and build a pyre

Lo, all you children of men!
Hoist the flag of plagues

The son of Jehovah
was redeemed by the just men
The curious daughter of Indra
came to explore the stench of cabbage
And the jovial son from Saturn sprang
tarnished to the dusty twilight
Fortunate to be forgotten

Lo and behold, children of men!
Hoist the flag of perilous plagues

Set guards to Fingal's grotto
You've deserved your rest
but don't let the poet sleep
Nurture the torture be perseverant
All your suffering shall surely vanish
while modesty evaporates

Lo, you wailers and complaints!
Puff out your chest!
The flag of plagues stands tall

Can the muffled prayers of the acquiescent
still impale the stones and fires?
Are your borrowed thoughts stuck in clay
and your feet heavy with mire?

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