Father God, You have shed Your tears for Mother India 
They have fallen to water ancient seeds 
That will grow into hands to touch the untouchable 
How blessed are the poor, the sick, the weak 

Father, forgive me, for I have not believed 
Like Mother India, I have groaned and grieved 
Father, forgive me, I forgot Your grace 
Your Spirit falls on India and captures me in Your embrace 

The serpent spoke and the world believed its venom 
Now we're ten to a room [bad word] with magazines 

There's a land where our shackles turn to diamonds 
Where we trade in our rags for a royal crown 
In that place, our oppressors hold no power 
And the doors of the King are thrown wide