And, Hungry For The Old, Familiar Ways,

And, Hungry For The Old, Familiar Ways, I Turned Aside And Bowed My Head And Wept.

I Know The Dark Delight Of Being Strange, The Penalty Of Difference In The Crowd, The Loneliness Of Wisdom Among Fools.

The Shivering Birds Beneath The Eaves Have Sheltered For The Night.

If We Must Die, O Let Us Nobly Die.

If We Must Die, Let It Not Be Like Hogs Hunted And Penned In An Inglorious Spot, If We Must Die, O Let Us Nobly Die.