Open your hearts to the queers who die
Young. And, please, your eyes with mourning
Children. Then open your hands for minds
Embattled and carry your spade
To another's grave ; yes, carry your spade
To another's grave.
Pick from the tree a leaf still
Glowing red and promise the crying creatures
Old age. Those who die young won't
Melt in the rain but bring a million queer
Hearts to their grave ; yes, bring a million
Queer hearts to their grave.
Recall when you age the queers
Who couldn't. Be the soaking rain to their short
Summers, and bring out all the words.
Fight their fight, never sell out, never
Take it out on another's grave ; no,
Never take it out on another's grave.