Little tiny precious vote,
Underneath my overcoat,
Snug and warm against my heart,
You and I will have to part.
I must caste you to the horde,
With your little wooden sword,
And your hopeful marching song;
Little vote of mine be strong.
Should our happy cause be dashed,
And your wooden sword be smashed,
Come back, dear beloved vote,
Dream inside my overcoat.