The discarded masses thrash in turmoil,

grasping for a ray of hope.

In sad desperation, they search

for healing for their deep scars.

Life has failed them, people make

promises but none comes through.

With their heads hung low,

they don't see the bright and morning star.

The advantaged elite ignore their needs,

indulging in any pleasure.

Creating the illusion of satisfaction,

they hide their spiritual strife.

Ambition has tricked them,

promising success but giving regret.

With their eyes turned inward,

they can't see the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

The sheltered believers feed their souls,

enjoying their salvation.

Huddled in their sacred shrines,

they study the power of God's might.

Satan has paralyzed them,

imprisoning them in their own buildings.

With their minds on the stories of old,

they miss the fields of white.

Our God Remains, The Hope for the Hopeless,

He hasn't changed, Our God Remains. . .

We Must Proclaim, the hope to the hopeless, the Wordnever changes, Our God Remains. . .