Like brimstones straight
From the backroom of hell
Life will hurl its missiles
I shall STAND, still
I shall not be moved
With torrential drops
From the nimbus cloud
I shall be drenched in the rain
Of stolen justices and muffled voices
I shall STAND, still
I shall not be moved
I shall STAND, still
My voice shall soar, still
I shall not be moved
The sun shall rise again
I shall not be moved
My hand shall in halleluya praise
I shall not be moved
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem