Don't say I shouldn't sing
in these barren streets,
Don't say I shouldn't cry
and scream to my hearts
content in this wasted
place.
Shouldn't I dance for joy,
whatever they say?
Who cares if I'm crying?
I'll cry anyway.

And out in the fields the
flags are flying.
And in through the town
the voice of your name
is a thunder roll as
flashing dancing angels
clap hands and echo
the mercy waves of you,
whilst every man and
women lift their heads
to cry; 'Oh! What a glorious,
What a glorious revolution!
Today, I am made new.'