| There's an inner thing in every man, | |
| Do you know this thing my friend? | |
| It has withstood the blows of a million years, | |
| And will do so to the end. | |
| | |
| It was born when time did not exist, | 5 |
| And it grew up out of life, | |
| It cut down evil's strangling vines, | |
| Like a slashing searing knife. | |
| | |
| It lit fires when fires were not, | |
| And burnt the mind of man, | 10 |
| Tempering leandened hearts to steel, | |
| From the time that time began. | |
| | |
| It wept by the waters of Babylon, | |
| And when all men were a loss, | |
| It screeched in writhing agony, | 15 |
| And it hung bleeding from the Cross. | |
| | |
| It died in Rome by lion and sword, | |
| And in defiant cruel array, | |
| When the deathly word was 'Spartacus' | |
| Along with Appian Way. | 20 |
| | |
| It marched with Wat the Tyler's poor, | |
| And frightened lord and king, | |
| And it was emblazoned in their deathly stare, | |
| As e'er a living thing. | |
| | |
| It smiled in holy innocence, | 25 |
| Before conquistadors of old, | |
| So meek and tame and unaware, | |
| Of the deathly power of gold. | |
| | |
| It burst forth through pitiful Paris streets, | |
| And stormed the old Bastille, | 30 |
| And marched upon the serpent's head, | |
| And crushed it 'neath its heel. | |
| | |
| It died in blood on Buffalo Plains, | |
| And starved by moons of rain, | |
| Its heart was buried in Wounded Knee, | 35 |
| But it will come to rise again. | |
| | |
| It screamed aloud by Kerry lakes, | |
| As it was knelt upon the ground, | |
| And it died in great defiance, | |
| As they coldly shot it down. | 40 |
| | |
| It is found in every light of hope, | |
| It knows no bounds nor space | |
| It has risen in red and black and white, | |
| It is there in every race. | |
| | |
| It lies in the hearts of heroes dead, | 45 |
| It screams in tyrants' eyes, | |
| It has reached the peak of mountains high, | |
| It comes searing 'cross the skies. | |
| | |
| It lights the dark of this prison cell, | |
| It thunders forth its might, | 50 |
| It is 'the undauntable thought', my friend, | |
| That thought that says 'I'm right!' | |
