The old champion bows her head and drops her torch. Fatigue has set in after a century of drudgery And all her commitment shown, no one can question her decision. Her partisans are bleak and sympathetic For how long should they ask the weary warrior to keep standing? The new masses turned away and the poor exiled under law of phylogeny, There is now no beacon but a rickety fence creakinβ That children fear when blows the old wind, once called freedom.