a thread of gold in the fabric we weave
winding together to make a tapestry
a shout, a call, a voice unknown
represents us, together all sewn
it whispers but it also screams
despite falling apart at the seams

a duty bound by words and oaths
through the hardship and snow that coats
etched in stone and carved in walls
so our land may never fall
flickers as a flame that’s fierce but shy
pierces like a beacon in the night sky

a secret is shared, a bold decree
what we leave behind is our legacy
of legends and of tales
of successes and of fails
a thread of hope and stitch of pain
without losing, there’s no gain

the cracks may widen, the fabric fray
but hands still work to guide the way
each voice a note, each heart a drum
a rhythm that will not succumb
to the rain of fire and forever demise
after all this time, we must still rise

our story is written in sweat and tears,
woven through the stretch of a hundred years

this tapestry forged through storm and strife,
each thread a sacrifice of life
and when the final note is sung
the last great thread of gold is strung
the world will see what we became:
a legacy carved in eternal flame.