Wounded voices as are we,
Still we sing defiantly;
We will let our hearts like fists
Towards heaven our struggle raise;
Scars run deep to break our song,
Yet through pain we will perform;
So, to all, let this be known:
To one heartsong, we belong.
Even when the night is loud,
Even when the world feels wrong,
We will mend the fractured sound—
Every silence makes us strong.
All the bruises we conceal,
Some will fade and some won’t heal;
Yet we march with quieter rage
On this trembling earthly stage.
Every sorrow has a tune,
Every tear a small monsoon;
Still we stand, though bowed and bent—
Every cry is testament.
Even when our breath is thin,
Even when our hope feels worn,
We will hold the note within—
For from ache new songs are born.
This is our heartsong—
Born of thunder, born of rain;
Every trembling note we lift
Turns the hurt into a flame.
Hear us rising—
Even shadows hum along.
We are many, we are one,
In the breaking, we stay strong—
In one heartsong,
We belong.
Let the world attempt to silence,
Let the storms attempt to drown;
Still our voices climb like islands—
Still our music won’t bow down.
For the heart is loudest singing
When the night is longest drawn;
And our pulse becomes a promise:
We will rise before the dawn.