A day, a day of glory!
A day that ends our woes!
A day that tells of triumph
Against our vanquish'd foes!
Yield, summer's brightest sunrise,
To this December morn:
Open up your doors, ye Flowers
And let the Floaters come forth.

With Gloria in excelsis
Their fellows tell their mirth:
With Kyrie eleison
Men answer upon the earth:
And badfic quakes in fear
As canon sounds its horn,
Open up your doors, ye Flowers,
And let the Floaters come forth.

They come, no praise desired;
They come, the pen, their sword;
Canon and logic, their masters
Which write and govern all:
Though none may know their birth place,
Their goals are for one and all:
Open up your doors, ye Flowers,
And let the Floaters come forth.

Then bar these gates, that henceforth
None thus may passage win,
Because these PPC agents
Alone hath entered in:
No earth, no Words, no fiction
Their passage mark e'er more:
Open up your doors, ye Flowers,
And let the Floaters go forth!