OUT of white lips a question: Shall seven million dead ask for their blood a little land for the living wives and children, a
little land for the living brothers and sisters?
Out of white lips:Shall they have only air that sweeps round the earth for breath of their nostrils and no footing on
the dirt of the earth for their battle-drabbed, battle-soaked shoes?
Out of white lips:Is the red in the flag the blood of a free man on a piece of land his own or is it the red of a sheep
slit in the throat for mutton?
Out of white lips a white pain murmurs: Who shall have land? Him who has stood ankle deep in the blood of his comrades, in
the red trenches dug in the land?