Worn out and weary, we ascend the gorge,
Prideful in knowing we battled like Thor.
Our paddle’s our hammer;
Our prose is our banner.
Deftly we slay the Russian hacka scourge.
Our souls long to battle day after day.
Even wounded, we leap first into the fray.
For all wounds are healed by her holy water
When we come as clay before our Potter.
All imperfections are cured by her sweet, swift sway.
So let us now go forth unto war
With the call of the River always at our core.
Though some think we only live for a thrill,
We really just want to crush Life's treadmill.
Slaves to the grind we are NEVERMORE!
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