Come we will an the road is open,
Come we will an the door swings ajar,
The land we glimpsed longing from fens afar,
Shall now be ours to make or mar!
Unto the gate we shall be holpen,
There with ye forever spar.
Perish not, then; cry instead, ‘War! War! War! ‘
After, the doom lies no more in fist or star!
The land of clouds where suns rain down,
The land of roses where tulips are;
Land of the living where the dead croon,
Land of misery where joys scar!
Lady of our heart, bane of our soul!
Cradle of our carcasses, stinking hole!
Land of lightening, land of love!
Haunt of the eagle, refuge of the dove!
We come, O Land of the Lost!
We come in a trice, gauze bannered host,
War we shall, against thy woes,
With axe and hoe and thy own foes!