Freedom, for children who live these days.

Children of ancestors whom still see freedom's haze.

They still carry the burden of pain.

Untouched and yet tangible, like a sudden burst of rain.

Spiteful tongues of enriched hate.

Snipe and spit at heaven's gate.

All these children, whom dream on the wings of a Dove.

Too much hate or not enough love.

From time a far and time a new.

All these things I say are true.

Who is to say what tomorrow may bring.

But I say to you, sing of Freedom, sing, sing, sing.