| With step as soft as wind it passed
|
| Over the heads of men so fast
|
| That they felt the presence there
|
| And looked and all was empty air
|
| And the prostrate multitude looked and
|
| Ankle deep in blood, trudged along
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| Without aim, trudging through
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| The freshly slain
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| Rise like lions after slumber
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| In unvanquishable number
|
| Shake your chains to earth like dust
|
| Which in sleep enveloped us
|
| And anarchy, the ghastly birth
|
| Lay deadened earth upon deadened earth
|
| The horse of death whose hooves did grind
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| To dust the murderers from behind
|
| A fervent chorus from beneath was
|
| Heard + felt + at its close
|
| A fervent chorus from beneath
|
| These words of hate + fear arose:
|
| Rise like lions after slumber
|
| In unvanquishable number
|
| Shake your chains to earth like dust
|
| Which in sleep enveloped us
|
| We are many, they are few
|
| We are many |