We have not been beaten down.
We will not slink to the ground defeated and done.
We will rise from the pitch and brush the dirt from our wounds
The scars that remain will serve as our relic
We will paint the blood of injustice on our faces and scream our unending faithfulness.
We are in the deep and the dark and we will claw our way to the zenith,
inch by inch, grit by grit.
We will dig deep into the chasm of our essence
and bring forth a heart of blue and blood of green,
so that no one will question who we are.
The sweat will pour from our bodies,
our muscles will beg us to stop but our courage will not comply.
We are thousands, we are one.
We will raise our hands to the heavens as one all mighty being
and bring them together with the strength of an indivisible army
and astound the world with our presence.
The heavy beat of the drum pulls the power from our souls
as we march into battle under skies of blue
and we will ride the cresting waves of green to victory.
This is the beginning. This is our moment.
We will not weep for our errors.
We will not drown in our defeat.
We will mount the fear, the loss, and hunt our desire,
with the hunger of a thousand empty days.
We hold our scarves high and cry our verse to glory.
And we worry not that the gods will bless us,
for we make our own destiny and for that,
the gods will admire us.
We are kindred.
We are a clan.