在手机上保存，获得更好体验
Smoke has gone, the land is still,
The broken earth has found its will.
A single bird begins to sing,
The first green leaf of everything.
Where storms once tore the fields apart,
Now little roots have learned to start.
A mother holds her child to see,
The miracle of what could be.
Old helmet holds a flower now,
Tiny roots break the rusty brow.
We are the promise in the dust,
We rise because we must.
Old helmet holds a flower now,
Tiny roots break the rusty brow.
We carry light from the dread,
And plant a garden in its stead.
Where storms once tore the fields apart,
Now little roots have learned to start.
A mother holds her child to see,
The miracle of what could be.
Old helmet holds a flower now,
Tiny roots break the rusty brow.
We are the promise in the dust,
We rise because we must.
Old helmet holds a flower now,
Tiny roots break the rusty brow.
We carry light from the dread,
And plant a garden in its stead.
