This ancient wound will be healed
The blood that pours from the mouths
Of the oppressed
Will be stopped
The thunder that rocks the bones of the weak
Will be silenced
The acrid smog that fogs young lungs
Will be cleansed
And the cancer that grips humble innards
Will evaporate
We the champions of destiny
Will flower
Our bodies will purify
Even our minds
Our vibrating essences
Will reform our dwellings
And peace will grow like a beautiful ornament