Their scorned progressive minds result in dejected ruddy faces;
Initially deterred they hide the smiles that were filled with braces.
Fortitude yanks heavy heads from soiled pillows or nothing at all;
Scarcely conscious do they stumble and occasionally they fall.
Yet up they rise and venture into the cold pitch-black night alone;
Clad with purpose they march on, each ignoring one another moan.
Faces laden with lost expressions, but they all know who they are;
Whilst the dreary city sleeps they will stage the supreme coup d'état.
'What? WHAT? WHEN? HOW?!' the fossils will demand in bewildered surprise;
For they never fathomed that lambs could prove their existence to be lies.
A lamb grows into a lion just as young boys grow into men;
With resolute faith in their cause, before bed they whisper amen.