As we love, we invent.
We are enterprise, families, and nations.
We are tying the the best of us into the grand of us.
We are the effort of love.
We are the glorious gift we carry in our arms.
We are night and day.
We print where we step.
We bring better color to day.
Our reach is what breathing brings.
Our imagination is refusing colder winds behind us.
Our glance across infinity is where we repair each moment.
We cannot satisfy ourselves pleasing each other.
We are instead to walk toward more tremendous tasks.
There is no waiting.
Dark we revel and ignore.
Our ache we blame on each direction.
Inside the red and blood is history,
that noise of our gloom,
our best yet,