What manner of men are these, who fly so free?
Not bound to any planet's rules,
Not tied to clocks and herding tools,
Not serving country-minded fools,
Not chained to dust like me
What manner of men are these, well-known to stars?
Not limited to one tribe's lands,
Not fed by any one tribe's hands
The mountains where my border stands
Confine like prison bars
What manner of men are these, who stand alone?
In all they do or say to me,
The echo of the stars they see
Confirms that one could be so free
It gnaws me to the bone
What manner of men are these, I need to know
They fill my dreams with wondrous things
And give my soul impatient wings
They show me where my freedom springs
And I am called to go
And I am called to go