If Any Question Why We Died Tell

A Black Shadow Dropped Down Into The Circle. It Was Bagheera The Black Panther, Inky Black All Over, But With The Panther Markings Showing Up In Certain Lights Like The Pattern Of Watered Silk. Everybody Knew Bagheera, And Nobody Cared To Cross His Path, For He Was As Cunning As Tabaqui, As Bold As The Wild Buffalo, And As Reckless As The Wounded Elephant. But He Had A Voice As Soft As Wild Honey Dripping From A Tree, And A Skin Softer Than Down.

In The Carboniferous Epoch We Were Promised Abundance For All, By Robbing Selected Peter To Pay For Collective Paul; But, Though We Had Plenty Of Money, There Was Nothing Our Money Could Buy, And The Gods Of The Copybook Headings Said: 'if You Don't Work You Die.'

Yes, Making Mock O' Uniforms That Guard You While You Sleep

Your New-caught, Sullen Peoples, / Half-devil And Half Child.

Men, Not Children Or Servants, Tempered And Taught To The End; Cleansed Of Servile Panic, Slow To Dread Or Despise, Humble Because Of Knowledge, Mighty By Sacrifice.