This society knows your name,
Bits and syllables, all the same
The sound is coarse but sweet, of course
So convince us of your fame

Bang the silver rivet fair,
Spike the spigot through the air
Catch a dream and set the theme,
To ****** their rosy, rolling glare

You can be a memory,
Advance to take the cavalry,
For turnabouts and troubled doubts,
This rest cannot be shaken,
By a burning moment's fantasy

Feeble minds,
Think feeble things,
Feeble brides,
Wear feeble rings,
When sleeping next to Wexford wakes you,
What will your devotion bring?