They won't believe us in our quest to fly,
'Til they can cry, "the brothers Wright have flown!"
But they had cast their doubts as well
On Alex Bell, until they used a telephone...
Firmly convinced that man can't fly, the critics try in vain
To thwart us is in our will to build our "aeroplane";
But when we fly from Kitty Hawk to our safe landing,
They'll all be standing there applauding us...

[Instrumental interlude...]

They can't believe this latest quest of mine:
PCs designed to fit inside your hand...
I've made the home computer commonplace,
Yet few embrace - and most deride - my plan;
iPods and Macs, and Filofaxes, Nikons... all are cool,
But someday, I'll combine them in one smaller tool;
It seems whatever some achieve, the non-believers
Will be dismissing us, or thwarting us...

[Instrumental interlude...]

And so whatever quest inspires the best of what you are,
The doubters are black holes, and you're a shining star;
Because the world is full of voids, yet full of comets,
So be a grouser, or be glorious...
So be a grouser, or be glorious...