With turned up collars
Coming in from the cold
All down to the cellar
Looking tired and old

At the table sitting
With steam rising from cups
Their circumstances fitting
Their missions in flux

They report their findings
While taking detailed notes
While secrecy is binding
While remaining in their coats

New tasks are issued
To discover the truth
With their nights continued
As they have from their youth

Tearing down the walls
Between the truth and lies
Waiting for the call
When the moment does arise