A winding brick path of perpetual people
Beset by hills and valleys
Of pandemics,
No virus of body or mind
Stifles the voice of soul-seeking eyes
Peaking above protective masks.
You storm the polls, you’re alive, you feel,
You still seek that ‘city on a hill’ ideal.
America speaks
And she steals our hearts away.
An indistinct and distant line of people
Finds its voice
In its distinguished house.
The center’s endless circle bends all ways,
Amidst brick foundations and pillars of might,
Predictable, balanced, equally on the left and right.
This ‘city on a hill’ alive, awake,
No storm will break her heart in two.
America speaks
As she mends our broken hearts.
Slowly the line adds color and face,
No race to judge each distinguished person,
Born and raised in the people’s house.
From right to left, from left to right,
We stand on each other’s shoulders,
Expanding our view, commanding our voice.
A solid brick wall holds up old glory
As she waves anew in the changing sky.
So alive, unique, this ‘city on a hill’
Where storms will come and go.
America speaks
And we give our hearts to her.