Father God, You have shed Your tears for Mother India They have fallen to water ancient seeds That will grow into hands to touch the untouchable How blessed are the poor, the sick, the weak
Father, forgive me, for I have not believed Like Mother India, I have groaned and grieved Father, forgive me, I forgot Your grace Your Spirit falls on India and captures me in Your embrace
The serpent spoke and the world believed its venom Now we're ten to a room or compared with magazines
There's a land where our shackles turn to diamonds Where we trade in our rags for a royal crown In that place, our oppressors hold no power And the doors of the King are thrown wide Father God, You have shed Your tears for Mother India They have fallen to water ancient seeds That will grow into hands to touch the untouchable How blessed are the poor, the sick, the weak
Father, forgive me, for I have not believed Like Mother India, I have groaned and grieved Father, forgive me, I forgot Your grace Your Spirit falls on India and captures me in Your embrace
The serpent spoke and the world believed its venom Now we're ten to a room or compared with magazines
There's a land where our shackles turn to diamonds Where we trade in our rags for a royal crown In that place, our oppressors hold no power And the doors of the King are thrown wide Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
