Time is high-ceilinged, yet flair is drawn thin,
While the soul is run ragged by sorrow and sin.
Amidst the blind darkness of malice and dread—
Where violence, turmoil, and terror are bred—
No comfort is left in a world cast aside,
With nowhere to turn and no light left to guide.
Yet through moral courage and brotherhood’s grace,
A sanctified love can transfigure this place,
And knowledge can flourish, from indulgence free.
Now, heavy steps tremble in deep agony;
The people walk fearful, in shadows that creep,
As if hunted by ghosts while the innocent weep,
Worn down by exhaustion, by plunder and pain.
Where virtue and trust have been broken in twain,
No questions of honor or truth can remain.
But time becomes art when its embers burn bright,
Piercing the fog of distrust with its light.
Through the quest for a dawn, for a new Golden Age,
Where the shadows dissolve, and the crooks turn the page,
Drifting away like the melting of snow.
Around the proud banners where red and green glow,
We lift our land to be radiant and pure—
To cross every bar with a truth that is sure,
For stillness, for peace, and a glory secure.
