Stand! The triumph of the winter cold comes
To blanket the voices, who can still sing?
For these dry times we must hear the war drums
The awe of vict’ry will rise before spring.
Will a champ’ion rise to stand for the right?
Or the weight now too heavy to push through?
Forced now to move under cover of night,
The faces of friends become much more few.
Cold gray skies offered as free from the burn
Sunshine sent off, but we miss those clear days.
It’s for that bright sun we faithfully yearn,
The thief steals bread, the owner always pays.
We spin even faster, things, they crash down,
Our culture asunder, where is God now?
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