I know of a place they can go.
It’s this magical continent.
The animals dance and sing, and the food is endless.
“Men of Harlech, stop your dreaming,
Can’t you see their spearpoints gleaming,
See their warrior pennants streaming,
To this battle field!
Men of Harlech stand ye steady,
It can not be ever said ye,
For the battle were not ready,
Welshmen never yield!
From the hills rebounding,
Let this war cry sounding,
Summon all at Cambria’s call,
The mighty force surrounding!
Men of Harlech on to glory,
This will ever be your story,
Keep these burning words before ye,
Welshmen will not yield!”