On that strait and Fateful day when Leonidas, bold as Bronze, stood to challenge Xerxes,

from the blackened wave-beat stones of that rugged Grecian shore,

While Posideon's tempest blasted the rocky crags, and Zeus, through Thunder, like Ten Thousand Lions, roared,

Two timeless words first marched forth with fervency upon a frontline Hoplite's tongue…

An undying Call-to-arms for the Every-man; the merciless bane of the Tyrant, one…

O, but a single phrase, Molon Labe, would come to echo 'cross each age,

Bestowing the eternal blessings of Liberty, now by rifle-barrel, then by Brass-forged blade;

The Motto which we now grasp so tightly as dear, yea, we took it in and we raised,

But the Words of Yore were born within a narrow gorge: A Mountain Pass called Thermoplaye.

When the Good Ol' Boys of Old Gonzales called down to Sant' Anna and his Black-Coated horde,

When the Texan townsfolk rose to take up arms and, like Thunder, the mighty Cannons roared,

Four more words soared high aloft on Gatling-smoke as a Banner takes to the Wind:

A new-found claim o'er those Ancient Words; this time: Come and Take It!

Who will be next to blow to Bugle and take up the Torch lit long ago?

Shall it smoulder 'pon Wind of Tyrant's make from the Seeds which we now sow?

To every Foe and Traitor who would dare dowse the proud Flame that our Fore-bearers did toil to stoke:

Molon Labe! Come and Take It! …And you had better bring your's once the Levee's broke!