A thousand years from now they'll forget 
how we built the Gardens of Babylon 
or the Pyramids of Giza, 

but they'll remember Ali and how 
each day after he left
left a bruise. 

And not just a little bruise either, 
no sir, the kind of deep Tyrian purple
the Phoenicians made from mollusk. 

They'll remember the shuffle, the smile, 
the lip. They’ll share stories 
of the fast feet, 

the fire, the fist. 
They'll remember a loud man because pyramids don’t make noise and gardens are quiet places. 

So it is only ourselves we must build. 
Rumble, young man, 
rumble.