The bitter smattering, the cold, stagnant icicles br Of the iron birds, their rigid wings br Descend like anathema br Upon our sun-caked heads, br Our firebird souls— br br The Fritz’s stiff storm cloud, mechanical rain br Shield the sun, their livid lightning br Lingering like irony br Over our bloodshot lips, br Our firebird fists— br br The sloping, oblique hill, the lead drizzle br Force us upwards! upwards! Through the hail br We forge like courage br To the bunkered hill, br Our fearless foes— br br Metal clashes fleshing—our stomachs barraged br Of Baron’s blow, its hideous squall; further, boys, br Of wars do we go! br Upon the knolling crest, br The firebirds sigh, now home.