We do the sabre dance, the sabre dance
The silver sticks, hot, like fried death
And us- doing the sabre dance with baited breath

Me and mine, amputated
Your face emancipated
All because of the sabre dance

Now everything’s coming apart! Witch! Witch!
We itch and cry-
But it’s so good to kick you, to kick you
Whilst the dance whirls on

Anzac day honour and people made of lists, so sick
Of spinning on tip toes and this- our day old homage
To the sabre

There’s glitter in your eyes but we can’t stop
There’s a fire in your bed but we can’t stop
There’s noise everywhere but we
Can’t stop for a fire, a noise, a glitter-glit glitter

Guilty litter
Surrounds us while we do the sabre dance, the sabre dance, the sabre dance.