We fight for the people,
Sing for life's sake,
Keeping the will to live awake,
Never drop into despair,
We'll soon be there,
Bearing not blue upon gloves,
Nor Crests of encompassing gold.
We'll free the blue and send it back,
To replace the grey above.
Paul placed the end of his Pole-arm,
With a hurry to a block of cobblestone,
A rounded, choice rod of wood,
Taken with acceptance from Sharin's orchard,
He can give us apples no more,
His branches are barren, such as I.
We must grant him final purpose,
Chop him down to usefulness.