Every girl should read the books that boys read,
see that war and machinery are in their future,
that the soft flesh will melt in the blast furnace of invention,
that the old patterns will be laughed at, passé.
New creations mean new variations on a cold and metallic theme. 
Oh, masterful manipulation, we salute your direction,
and at night, when it is black-out and all the hearth-fires dead, 
we chalk in imaginary lines between the distant constellations, 
hoping that one day the scrap we are left with 
will take us to the stars.