It is surely time to fire

We are down now past the plastic, the sea-coal, the flip-flops

Down through the flints, the quartzite, the hags

And down to the imprint-taking, relic-yielding clay

We are among bracelet clasps, spindle-whorls, a whalebone table

We are among fossils: The mammoths, the turtles, the sharks, the nautilus

The wing bone of the albatross, the ear bone of the eagle ray

Song of the bomb, the drifting song

The firing song, the song of the bomb

Song of the wren, the devil-bird's song

The firing song, the song of the bomb

Song of the spores, the drifting song

The firing song, the song of the bomb

Song of the hag, the sea coal song

The firing song, the song of the bomb

The song of the bomb, the song of the bomb

The song of the bomb, the song of the bomb

The song of the bomb, the song of the bomb, the song of the bomb

His lips are now chert

The slate blue of a peregrine's back and the sea's black before a storm

And his tongue is agate, all the profuse, unearthly colours of agate

I am petrified

Oh, happy band of pilgrims, drift upward to the skies

Where such a murmuration shall win so great a prize

Shingle shelter bunker, bunker shelters blast

Dark drifts down

Night flies fast

Song of the bomb, the drifting song

The firing song, the song of the bomb

Song of the wren, the devil-bird's song

The firing song, the song of the bomb

Song of the spores, the drifting song

The firing song, the firing song

The firing song, the firing song

Oh, the song of the bomb, the song of the bomb

The song of the bomb, the song of the bomb

The song of the bomb, the song of the bomb

The song of the bomb, the song of the bomb

It was all sea once

In a long unbroken line

It was all sea once

It was all sea once

It was all sea once

It was all sea once

It was all sea once

It was all sea once

It was all sea once

It was all sea once