We are pilgrims,
navigating the channels of what will become
Each one is mine, mother says...
Each one is mine, father says...
Having arrived or so it seems, to rest in this new country
A map of the beginning tucked in our breast
We have unfolded this land,
plucking from our pockets the seeds of certain destiny,
the genetic markers of both human and soil
We look beyond for strength,
but find nothing
Do we all travel alone at first?
Surely God will send a companion,
a comrade who knows the way
Surely God will send another,
One cannot have war without enemy.