O people, o people, my feet may be wet,
But my heart is warm and bright like the sun,
Besides my vision, is of divinest precision,
From whence my salvation's effusion.

But if in society they'd accept that we see,
And not proscribe our divinity to lunacy,
We'd run, with the sun, having fun, all at one,
A march with our brothers and sisters begun.

Then the tyrant might cower and the cruel priest retire,
Scared by our soul's revolutionary fire,
Angels will rub their heads and wake from their beds,
Realising their children had only slumbered, not fled.

So is it right to deny us a drink and a smoke?
For who in the cold would turn down a ****?
We need warmth in the absence of comforts and flame,
To dwell in God's love, not society's shame