1919, on the flat fens of Norfolk, A gigantic iron shed Obscures the dark grey sky, And there's something extraordinary We keep inside; Something I'd like you to see. Leave your matches outside please And your cigarette lighters. You could say we're a trifle vulnerable to fire; And rubber-soled shoes only please, Can't risk sparks. Just through this door. Now what do you think of that?...
She's six hundred and fifty feet long; That's twice the length of a soccer pitch, And she stands as tall As a nine storey building; Meet His Majesty's Airship R.33...
6am, five hundred sleepy men On ropes beneath her. So big in here, The shed seems half deserted. There she floats, six feet above the floor, Weightless...
Here she comes now, with the sun; The first red fires of dawn Turn her silver into gold...