Holding a chicken upside down by its legs,
I douse the creature in a batter of flour, eggs, and milk;
the concoction sitting in a silver vat
in the middle of a dilapidated warehouse.
...
Give me the scorn of the stars and a peak defiant;
Wail of the pines and a wind with the shout of a giant;
Night and a trail unknown and a heart reliant.
Give me to live and love in the old, bold fashion;
A soldier's billet at night and a soldier's ration;
A heart that leaps to the fight with a soldier's passion.