Waffles March Along the Charles

From Brussels streets to jungle rain, from Saigon nights to Northern trains. They crossed the

seas, they crossed the law with iron wills and batter raw.

No silken flags, no silver spoons, just red star dreams and borrowed tunes.

And in their hands held proud and high, the tools of dawn like ,

revolution. Oh, rise, oh, rise along the

Charles. The waffles march through Harvard yards. No crown,

no bank, no boardroom throne. Boston shall not dine alone. From mills to

labs, from brick to pen, the people eat and rise again.