In the sky suspended on wings of eagles
Aloft above far-reaching cloud
Turned golden by the rays of sunset
Enclosed in the heavens' peaceful shroud
As sentinels of our nation's freedom
Through the solitude of the central blue
We hurtle with the sound of thunder
Descendents of the famous "Few".
May the lines we etch across the sky
Be bold, and straight, and true
And may we never forget-in age
That such was the path we knew.