"You're an honorable mech, Prowler. Don't meet many of those in my line of work." [Jazz] stood and smiled. "Makes a nice change." Tossing a salute at Tumbler, he ambled to the exit, music leaking from his speakers once more ...
My thoughts, they are free; no mech may compel them.
As Seekers they speed, my spark to impel them.
No cell can contain them, no force field restrain them.
Let none disagree: my thoughts, they are free!
My thoughts are my own to cheer and to please me
When I am alone with none by to tease me.
When good bots assemble, I do not dissemble
But speak truthfully: my thoughts, they are free!
And should I be jailed in pentagonal lockup,
Consider me haled into a cheap mock-up.
My imagination can wreck its foundation
And sham masonry: my thoughts, they are free!
And so I will leave all sorrow behind me
And for nothing grieve nor let worry bind me.
My spark ever merry, with jokes gloom I'll parry
And laugh ceaselessly: my thoughts, they are free!
Author's Note: As I mentioned in the endnotes to "However Improbable," I am firmly convinced that every planet needs a version of "Die Gedanken Sind Frei" by August Heinrich Hoffmann von Fallersleben, whether or not it has a Pete Seeger to sing it. (In a pinch, I don't doubt a Jazz will do.)