It seems we're slipping backwards,
Losing ground, footing, power,
And all the voices, all the opinions,
All the beliefs that shout the loudest
Keep shouting over us
Keep snapping back at us
Keep their hands on our mouths.

But we have marched before,
We will march again,
And our numbers only grow.

It seems we're at the mercy,
Of the polls, or the pundits,
Or the column writers
Or the political correspondents
Whose platforms give them high ground
From which to stamp at our climbing hands.

But we have marched before,
We will march again,
And our numbers only grow.

It seems we're fading away,
Like we were no more than
Dust blown off an old view
An old way of doing things
But we will not settle,
We cannot settle,
For our duty is worth more
Than a few pence a month.

We have marched before,
We will march again,
And keep marching,
Until we are unstoppable.