Britannia Needs No Bulwarks, No Towers Along

Our Land, The First Garden Of Liberty's Tree-- It Has Been, And Shall Be, The Land Of The Free.

O Star-eyed Science, Hast Thou Wander'd There, To Waft Us Home The Message Of Despair?

An Original Something, Dear Maid, You Would Wish Me To Write; But How Shall I Begin? For I'm Sure I Have Not Original In Me, Excepting Original Sin.

The Only Thing That Is Fundamental (real) Is Consciousness Itself; All Else Is Virtual- I.e., A Result Of An Exchange Of Information Within Consciousness.

Britannia Needs No Bulwarks, No Towers Along The Steep; Her March Is O'er The Mountain Waves, Her Home Is On The Deep.