The last of our kind, the givers of steam; we are not known for our polish that gleams, we are known for the sweat, grease, and fire; but do not yet light our funeral pyre.
For though we may no longer technically exist, our rate may change, but still know this; we still light our fires, and they still burn, the lights are still on, the screws still turn.
So do not mourn us, we still have our pride, that burns like our fires deep inside, the heart of anyone that's been rated BT; from Norfolk to San Diego to the South China Sea; we don't fade away, and we will not quit; know this whenever you hear Fires Lit.
From the Steam Demons to Navy Power and Light, we know our strength, and we know our might,
So when you take a hot shower, or turn on a light to read a good book in the middle of the night, remember that it happened because we followed our creed and always remember the Dying Breed.