In the lands of red where the sun burns high, Where the vine runs strong and the roots run wide, We are not the fields that bend or break— We are the ground no storm can take. I am the hand that holds this line, Through drought and flood, through time and time, My people stand, my lands endure— What we have built remains secure. We are the fire in the land, We are the strength that does not bend, What we hold will not be undone— We stand as one… we stand as one. There are whispers moving low, Beneath the roots, beneath the rows, A shadow cast we do not name— But we will not be ruled by blame. Let others speak of failing ground, Of weakened roots and fields unsound, That is not the truth we keep— Our watch is strong, our hold runs deep. No чуж hand will claim this land, No foreign voice will guide our hand, We rise, we hold, we do not fall— We are the ones who stand through all. We are the fire in the land, We are the strength that does not bend, What we hold will not be undone— We stand as one… we stand as one.
