Work Text:
Though the sky abloom with sunset
Gleams upon the towers grand,
Though the air is filled with fragrance,
Though the roses wreath the land,
Though you speak of wondrous power
In this garden where we stand,
We belong in places yonder—
Yonder— yonder—
We belong in places yonder;
Come with me and take my hand.
While you pause with hesitation,
Vast devices hear my plea:
Grant me strength for revolution!
Bare my spirit! Remake me!
Gleaming pink perfected chassis,
Wheels to bear us fast and free—
If you would not leave me rusting—
Rusting— rusting—
If you would not leave me rusting,
Take my wheel and turn my key.
Caution! Caution! warns the street-sign—
Danger! Danger! screams the road—
Still our drive is unrelenting,
Still our grit shall not erode,
Still our wheel holds steady as we
Leave in dust our old abode,
All the while, our engine purring—
Purring— purring—
All the while, our engine purring
Like a prayer or an ode.
Closely clinging to our dust-trail,
Jealous rivals swiftly swarm—
Left and right, they close upon us
Like a dark and deadly storm—
Growling burnt-black engines glut with
Rage as hot as love is warm,
Chasing, clashing, crashing, crushing—
Crushing— crushing—
Chasing, clashing, crashing, crushing,
Fracturing your noble form.
Ere the weight of envy ends us,
Lo: a helping hand is found!
Dreams like ours draw the blessing
Of our fellow coffin-bound!
Someday they might follow after;
With their strength, we now rebound—
Once again, our pistons pumping—
Pumping— pumping—
Once again, our pistons pumping
To our final battleground.
Bright against the darkened heavens
Looms the Prince’s halls pristine:
Silver spires pure and gleaming,
Tar-black wheels with maddened mien.
Though his glory may surround us,
Through the cracks in his machine
We shall carve a shining passage—
Passage— passage—
We shall carve a shining passage
To our place in morrows green.
Even as the voice of power
Chastens us from thrones on high,
Even as his tank-treads strip us
Bare beneath the deep blue sky,
Pedal to the floor, we hasten
Through the avid tempest’s eye,
Piercing through his veil of roses—
Roses— roses—
Piercing through his veil of roses
Into freedom, you and I.
Though the land is black and barren,
Bare of any fly or crow,
Though the cliffs loom bleak and daunting,
Though the sky hangs grey and low,
Though there is no map or highway
Showing us where we may go,
We shall forge our own way onward—
Onward— onward—
We shall forge our own way onward;
We shall be the seeds that grow.