The Lucifer Cantos 10/13

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Now we who are
about to die,
we sons of god who swam the flood,
all hail the milkwine grail, the blood
of lamb and kid. In valour’s hall
of spitted swan, as trumpets call,
we’ll drink from truth’s immortal bowl
as confirmation of our role.

And we who are
about to die
on exile’s earth in eagle’s rite,
in our own grace of sweat, salute
with fist your majesty of might.
Your will be done; exact it now,
and wash us from your wringing hands,
as dirt of toil in stranger’s lands.

For we who are
about to die,
we saw a shape in war, a blind,
castrated wreck with cankered mind
in flail of fury, saw it lamed,
a cripple gibbering vengeance, maimed
in silver sight -- a coming of age!
We saw your face the day you built the cage.

And we who are
about to die —
See how our pinioned prides ignite
on scattered sands of solar beach,
in golden burn to ashen white,
on silver scythe of lunar bleach,
as shattered stars on winds are raked,
in evenfall and morning’s wake.

And we who are
about to die,
our blood is wine, our life is grain,
our ecstasy is sanctity, our pain
is river, thundering, rain our lust!
Aye, in our streams of tears we’ll rust
all chains, all barbs, all nails that wire
the eyes, sweep vision clean of motes of mire.

For we who are
about to die
see valiant flags as veils ripped down,
see violence glory that it rides
in servitude to sorrow’s crown.
A king of tears in heaven hides
in labyrinths, from tanist’s eye,
while in his grave the millions lie.

And we who are
about to die
we scorn the law, the hidden name.
We will not play your soldier game.
We will not fall. We will not fall,
but rise in blaze of loss and call,
and fly into our births and cry
inferno, aye, incinerate your lie.