A time may come when I’ll sing my own song,
And that time is coming fast.
I’ll sing my own song,
Perhaps a lyrical song colored with joy,
And maybe a dirge bursting with sorrow
A time will come then I’ll sing my own song,
A song in praise of fallen heroes,
A song in huge honor of hunger
A song for incessant insecurity,
A song of unemployment.
One thing I don’t know
Is whether the church will sing to this song,
And dance to its tunes, or make it
A song for offering of offerings.
I don’t know whether to make it secular;
If it be ungodly, perhaps it may be a hit.
When i’ll sing my own song
Children will hop over hills in awe;
Mothers will sing its tune mutely,
And fathers will remain unsure whether to join
Not long, I will sing a song.
I will sing to my own song,
Then the world know I desired peace,
And love, and accord.
Then the world will know
I’m tired of wanton carnage,
And famines that breed hunger,
And being quagmired by floods,
And being mixed in hysteria
Of dirty and ethnic politics!
