We watch the bridges
As they all turn to ash
While being baptized in the river
By the hand that begs for cash
Now I'm failing to see
The better part of this
You might break my customs
You'll never break me
I've longed for this sound
Such a glorious sight to see
Faith, Courage, and Insight
Something so keen
When that Preachers speaks
They'll rest with ease
Boy when that Preacher preachers
You'd better be on them knees
Ain't that the truth?
Or is it?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem